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child poetry

ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
wenig Park, den ich durch führe
ich brenne keinen Duft
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying
wir legen
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
ich sah die erste Birne
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
wenn Freiheit von ihrer Gebirgshöhe

 



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