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death poetry

ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
wie ein blanker Mann ich gehen
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
liebe Frau
die Wiese kroch
ihr schönes Haar
der Schnee whispers über mich
ich muß sagen gute Nacht

 



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