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missing you poem

ich sterbe
Melancholie, Blau war sie
in Ihrem Flug
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
ich habe daß eine bestimmte Prinzessin gehört
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
weich als das Bett in der Masse

 



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