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sad love poem

wie das Glätten fällt
letzter Mitternacht
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
gestiegen von den Toten
ich bot sie aller Abschied
ich bin eine Frau
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
ich muß sagen gute Nacht

 



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