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retirement poem

und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
ich sterbe
ich loathed Sie
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
voll von den Rissen
ich bin alt und blind
ich habe die Welt geworfen
gestiegen von den Toten
entlang den Bänken
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt

 



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