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poem for pastors

der Blitz blitzte und hob an
schwach-weak-winged Song
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
Melancholie, Blau war sie
rühren Sie sich

 



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