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poems

durch die rude Brücke
er wird gegangen
ich habe den Silence der Sterne und des Meeres gekannt
gute Frau
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
ich sterbe
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt

 



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