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memorial poem

Melancholie, Blau war sie
ich halte Ihr Herz
ich bildete ein Versprechen einmal, eins nur
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
ich sah die erste Birne
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer

 



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