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mother poem

der Schnee whispers über mich
Nacht war schwarz und drear
seien Sie in mir als die ewigen Stimmungen
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
wölbte die Flut
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
ich habe das Rennen gewonnen
glooms der Lebeneichen

 



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