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poetry poem

geben Sie mir Hunger
eine Meile nach
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach
welches hält
das Swanbestehen
Freund, dessen Lächeln gekommen ist zu sein
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag

 



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