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famous poem

er wird gegangen
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
diese sind
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
wir, die standen
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschließenden Betts
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
alter Wein zum Trinken
über dem Fluß winken sie zu mir zu

 



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