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romantic love poems

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
ich liebe meine Stunde des Winds und des Lichtes
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
nicht von der breiten Welt des Ganzen
sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
das traurigste des Jahres
stern kalter Mann

 



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