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good bye poem

wir waren nicht viele
die kleinen weißen Gebete
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
Nobility des Todes wieder
nehmen Sie meine Bracelets
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
schöne, tragical Gesichter
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe

 



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