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thanksgiving poetry

sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
lieben Sie mich schließlich oder, wenn Sie nicht werden
die hypocritic Tage
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
diese sind
einfach sprechend
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln
eine sehr bemerkenswerte Geschichte dieses ist

 



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