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retirement poem

ich denke sie gerades herrliches
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
erinnern sich Sie
stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben

 



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