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grandma poem

das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
in ihren zackigen regimentals
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiĂź
ich ging auf und ab die StraĂźen
die Wiese kroch
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht

 



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