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daughter poem

ich bete nicht für Frieden
was ich Ihnen verdanken
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
Blüten der Babys
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben
in das leise Land
als ich war, lief London ein
der Schnee whispers über mich
Einfachheit
unnachgiebige Vergangenheit des thou

 



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