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kid poem

er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
ich sah die erste Birne
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
innerhalb dieses niedrigen Grabs liegt ein conqueror
ich fülle diese Schale
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den Fluß
traurig sprechend
das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
sie sprengte fierce Wein
ich mag es

 



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