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teenage love poem

der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
mit den meek, braunen Augen
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
die Dichter sagen
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
auf und an
Blüten der Babys
Schatten legen entlang broadway


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