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retirement poem

Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
erinnern sich Sie
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln
ich halte Ihr Herz
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen
schreckliche Wahrheiten diese sind
für dann außen
ich brenne keinen Duft
er würde sogar seinen Witz haben
wer den Wind nennen wird

 



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