Where have you gone
what are you doing
and how could my fledgling be here
where the rocks never cease their thrashing
and Edith with golden hair
they are the thunder
crashing down my staircase
screaming of love divine
where books never need of mending
from my armchair on the Rhine
I can tolerate the spending
obfuscate the wind
but of my heart and love unending
you last I have made my friend.
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