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i used to have a grey bear that i sat on as a chair.
he was made of metal and had four rusty legs.
but he was so good natured waiting for me on the back
porch just to the left of the ashtray and recycling bin.
how i would just sit there on that old
bent gray chair that i called bear.
drinking deschutes brewery dry and
eating expensive cheese.
grey bear was always such a good listener to,
not like that squirrel that would always run
off at first sight of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem