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hang no wreath
the snow whispers about me
i am in love with high far-seeing places
daughter, thou art come to die
i saw him once before
there was a strangeness on your lips
beautiful, tragical faces
you are clear
we were not many
among the mountains i wandered
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
she heard the children playing in the sun
i shake my hair in the wind of morning

 



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