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mom poem

singen Sie wieder dem Song Sie gesungen
über dem Fluß winken sie zu mir zu
das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
in den Hallen des Schlafes wandered Sie vorbei
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
folglich kann ich nicht
welches ich erwähnen möchte
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
schöne, tragical Gesichter
Blüten der Babys


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