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father poem

wenn es
wölbte die Flut
zum leidenschaftlichen Geliebten
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
plötzlich aus den dunklen und belaubten Weisen heraus
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
Melancholie, Blau war sie
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums

 



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