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Just stands there

And the indian stands there,
the lonely indian just stands there,
like a historical monument.
In rainy mornings,
in post-heated summernights,
just stands there,
being chief-son Bromden,
on every hill,
in every vally.
And the wind,
shaped as Ms. Ratched,
the restless, howling wind
hits him,
over and over again.
And the lonely indian
just stands there.


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[an error occurred while processing this directive] Poetry by Kenneth Sorensen
Dikt av poeten Kenneth Sørensen