« Antwort #352 am: 27. Mär 2019, 22:04 »
In sundry tongues they speak so ill
Of holly-lands and breezing chill.
There great smiths would riches hoard,
Earning fame and praising word.
Stowing wonders was not to save
Happy lands from coming wave,
As nights bedimmed a swooning age,
Fraught with storms about to rage.
« Letzte Änderung: 27. Mär 2019, 22:07 von Walküre »
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