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narrative poetry

lieben Sie mich schließlich oder, wenn Sie nicht werden
die Sonne ist oben
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
ein Himmel, der nie Sonne, Mond oder Sterne gekannt hat
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
ich liege am Tabellenberg

 



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