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mother poem

neben einem geschlagenen Feld
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
winged Schatten, die vorbei fegen
Tage endeared zu jedem MUSE
unter dem Helm des Warriors
ich bin fevered
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
er war ein hohes junges oysterman

 



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