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autumn poem

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
wie ich innen roofed liege, innen aussortiert
süsses splendor
haben wir keine Schande?
liebe Frau
ist häufig er nicht so?
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
Tage endeared zu jedem MUSE
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen

 



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