Chaque vieil homme que je vois me rappelle mon père quand il était tombé amoureux de la mort un moment où des poulies ont été recueillies. Qu'homme que j'ai vu en Gardner la rue a trébuché sur le bord était on, il a regardé fixement moi moitié-a observé, je pourrait avoir été son fils. Et je me rappelle le musicien hésiter au-dessus de son violon dans Bayswater, Londres, il m'ai aussi placé l'énigme. Chaque vieil homme que je vois par temps Octobre-coloré semble dire à moi: "j'étais par le passé votre père."
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