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thanksgiving poetry

in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
ich bin eine Frau
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
hatten er und i aber getroffen
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
gerade jetzt
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze

 



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