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mother daughter poem

ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
jenseits schauen
seien Sie, Leben geduldig, wenn Liebe am Gatter ist
mit den meek, braunen Augen
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen

 



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