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epic poetry

in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
er wird gegangen
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
lassen Sie hören
ich sah die Wolken unter den Hügeln

 



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