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funny poem

ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
die kleinen weißen Gebete
vor drei Jahren heute
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
sie hat einen freien Raum, Wind-geschütztes loveliness
ich bin eine Frau

 



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