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christmas poetry

ich rĂĽttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
wenig Gatter wurde schlieĂźlich erreicht
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
singen Sie wieder dem Song Sie gesungen
gestiegen von den Toten
von Song und Traum fĂĽr ĂĽberhaupt gegangen

 



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