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father poem

wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
Material des Mondes
Nacht war schwarz und drear
dieses Jahr
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
von Song und Traum für überhaupt gegangen
seien Sie nicht falsch
aber alas, gerade Träume

 



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