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child poem

obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes
er war ein hohes junges oysterman
mit den meek, braunen Augen
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
schön
ich hatte den Fall über-vorbereitet
die Dichter sagen
ich liebe meine Stunde des Winds und des Lichtes
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
dieses ist das Arsenal

 



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