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grandmother poem

zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr ĂĽberschritten
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
tat Sie hören überhaupt
geheimnisvolle Nacht
ich sehe allen menschlichen Esprit
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so

 



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