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friend poem

ich sah die erste Birne
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
eine Meile nach
ich bin alt und blind
alle innen und alle ohne mich
Ruhe als die zweiter Sommer
dieser merkwürdige Begleiter kam auf shuffling Füße
schön
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
unter einem ausgebreiteten Kastaniebaum
ich bete nicht für Frieden
schöne, tragical Gesichter
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind

 



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