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type of poetry

ich bin der Wind, der wavers
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
gibt es jedes dort
sie konnte ihn im früheren Frühling gekannt haben
gelebt durch den River-side
aber alas, gerade Träume
hoch-getragenes Rennen
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein

 



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