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love poetry chat

um Mitternacht
ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
tun Sie die Jungen und Mdchen gehen noch
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
was ich Ihnen verdanken
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
im September
Sie sind frei
in den mournful Zahlen
das traurigste des Jahres
lassen Sie mich durch die Strae langsam bewegen

 



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