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retirement poem

sie sagte
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
erinnern sich Sie
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
wie das Glätten fällt
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern
als ich war, lief London ein
seien Sie nicht falsch
rückwärts drehen Sie sich rückwärts
einige windigere Tage
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft

 



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