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thanksgiving poem

für dann außen
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
Einfachheit
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
wenn ein Brief für Freiheit erfolgt ist
einfach sprechend

 



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