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One Early Hanseatic Morning
One early Hanseatic morning in Bismarck's town Walking Othmarschen's Prussian streets, my sub-continental snake-tuned eye is startled by a sudden rustling in the crumpled autumn yellow lying at maple's feet.
It is only a raven scrounging for food, pecking at German abundance lying on empty roads, now bejewelled with russet apples glowing in gutter grates, on glistening streets, wet with last night's rain.
Further down Kalckreuth way, a patient Teutonic Benz at computer red and amber, waits alone for green, then peels down the road as Lutheran bells proclaim another Sabbath morning.
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