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short poem

noch dreizehn Jahre
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
der Schnee whispers über mich
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
ich loathed Sie


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