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grandma poem

ich bin der Wind, der wavers
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
zweifellos erinnere mich ich noch
die kleinen weißen Gebete
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
auf und ab geht ihn
das Swanbestehen
unter den Bergen wandered ich

 



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