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mother poem

ich sah die erste Birne
unter den Bergen wandered ich
Einfachheit
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
wenig Gatter wurde schlieĂźlich erreicht
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein

 



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