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kid poem

ich mag es
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
ich liebte eine Frau
Ginghamhund und die Kalikokatze
ich loathed Sie
wer den Regen liebt
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
einige windigere Tage

 



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