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sad poetry

der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
nicht von der breiten Welt des Ganzen
weich jetzt das Licht des Tages
verbessern Sie als Granit
Roses und Gold
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
in das leise Land
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege

 



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