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baby poem

was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
als ich war, lief London ein
ich liebe meine Stunde des Winds und des Lichtes
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
gelebt durch den River-side
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
ein dünner grauer Schatten auf dem Rand des Gedankens
hatten er und i aber getroffen
und mein Name ist truthful

 



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