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grandmother poem

Nobility des Todes wieder
winged Schatten, die vorbei fegen
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
schreckliche Wahrheiten diese sind
ich weiß nicht wo
rühren Sie sich
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
warum dann, Muß wir? sieht
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist

 



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