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father poem

rühren Sie sich
im Hafen neuen Yorks
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes
auf und ab geht ihn
ich bin eine Frau
durch das Ufer durch das Meer
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
er würde sogar seinen Witz haben

 



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