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retirement poem

meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
ich singe Ihnen
ich erwarte Sie
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach
hören Sie
die Bögen der roten Brücke
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln
und noch gingen sie an

 



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