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footprint poem

ein Vogel sang
möglicherweise
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
seien Sie nicht falsch
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
aber alas, gerade Träume
der Duft kam
gestiegen von den Toten
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
die langen resounding Marmorflure
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
die Wiese kroch

 



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