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brother poem

gloom
geben Sie mich
hoch-getragenes Rennen
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
desolate und einsam
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
wenig Park, den ich durch führe
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach

 



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