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funny poem

die Luft ist von Dämmerung und Frühling voll
war sie nicht für diesen einzigartigen Geruch
lieben Sie mich schließlich oder, wenn Sie nicht werden
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
er spricht nicht gut
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
er war ein hohes junges oysterman

 



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