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thanksgiving poem

herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
die langen resounding Marmorflure
mit den meek, braunen Augen
durch die rude Brücke
wie ein blanker Mann ich gehen
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
bleiben Sie nicht mehr
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf

 



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