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birthday poem

der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
ich mag es
und mit dem Summenvogel
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
ich stand das geöffnete Flügelfenster bereit
schwach-weak-winged Song
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
hoch-getragenes Rennen

 



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