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... , . , , , . , , - , , ... - , . . , , . ... , , , . , , . , , , : " . ". ... | Exchange of Letters Dear sweetheart, I write with no hope for enjoying your answer. Our spring swept away and the nightingales broke off their song. And two decades have passed since the end of the passionate summer That we spent in the kingdom of maritime land, all alone. Dear sweetheart, Ive changed much look heavy, appreciably older Far beyond recognition. My temples turned silvery grey I remember my promise to write you few things from the border, And I stuck to my word with a feather in my hand again. Like it was every night till that day and after, within twenty years. Otherwise, all my writing skills would have been totally gone. Dear sweetheart, if only they handed you this pile of papers, You would probably find it to be an extremely fun. In the morning my adjutant comes for some letters, as always. Ill entrust him two items of service, as I always do. Nothing private today. All dispatches of utmost importance. Frosty road rebounds a pretty clear clapping of hoof © erleben |
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