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schöne, tragical Gesichter
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
ich singe Ihnen
von der Sonne noch Sterne
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
süsses splendor
ich bin eine Frau
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
wölbte die Flut

 



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