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happy birthday poem

es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
so verloren
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
sehr gut Sie Liberale
alle jene Schätze, die liegen
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von

 



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