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The Old Mexican
He stood at the corner many days
Selling flowers sun or rain
He was an old Mexican and he plays
The harmonica for his pain.
One day there was a chase, two cars
Down Boston Road came. The stars
That guide his destiny in their wars
Left no choice to him. His blood mars
Pelham curb still. But, O, the police
Said, it was only for law and order
They chased the other like a beast
Since he ran a traffic light. I shudder
Though, to see flowers again.
They are not the harmonica anymore for pain.
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