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lyric poem

möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
Sie sind schön und verblassen
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
alter Wein zum Trinken
was wir jetzt tut

 



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