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teen poem

fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
er war ein hohes junges oysterman
ich sterbe
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
wie ich sollen Sie, helfen Sie rechts der Welt, die falsch geht
hatten er und i aber getroffen
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach

 



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