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love poem

stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
Tage endeared zu jedem MUSE
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
ich brenne keinen Duft
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
Melancholie, Blau war sie
und noch gingen sie an
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach

 



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