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retirement poem

wenig Park, den ich durch führe
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
dieses ist das Schiff der Perle
ich stand
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
ich brenne keinen Duft
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß

 



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