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myspace poem

ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
er spricht nicht gut
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
Töchter der Zeit
Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
vor drei Jahren heute
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
glooms der Lebeneichen
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute

 



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