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nature poem

wie das Glätten fällt
innerhalb dieses niedrigen Grabs liegt ein conqueror
die Wiese kroch
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
dieser merkwürdige Begleiter kam auf shuffling Füße
zweifellos erinnere mich ich noch
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
meine zutreffende Liebe von ihrem Kissen stieg
Roses und Gold

 



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