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spanish poem

die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
ich habe die stolzesten Sterne gesehen
singen Sie wieder dem Song Sie gesungen
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
aus dem Fenster heraus ein Meer der grünen Bäume
ich stand das geöffnete Flügelfenster bereit
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
weich weinend
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet

 



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