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friend poetry

alle jene Schätze, die liegen
in den mournful Zahlen
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten
winged Schatten, die vorbei fegen
die Qual des Habens zu vieler Energie
lassen Sie einen Freudenunterhalt Sie
ich brenne keinen Duft
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten

 



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