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haiku poem

aller Tag zum Aufpassen der blauen Welle sich zu kräuseln und zu brechen
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin
alter Wein zum Trinken

 



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