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famous poem

gestiegen von den Toten
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
er würde sogar seinen Witz haben
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
die Bögen der roten Brücke
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
wir waren nicht viele
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
wenn es
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist

 



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