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Some mornings when the sun drips

into luminous light drops and
makes the big tree shimmer,

I close my eyes and dream
my dream of the world –

I believe then the world of the dream
will die one day –

one day, the sad songs and their tears will
dissolve in the wind and the
years will lose their sting –

losses will not weigh so heavy and youth will be
a pearl of memory – one evening the

melody of life will be a whisper in the
ear of neighborly death –

… when the big tree shimmers in the melting
sun – then the world is a desolate dream I no longer
want to dream …

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