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birthday poem

häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
sehen Sie das vorläufige
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
lassen Sie nicht hören
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
das traurigste des Jahres
wir, die standen
süsses splendor
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind

 



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