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■ The oak
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Remember the times,
That only time may yet assure Their loss And months, About to pass and grow Upon their bones; Gore spits, From curses of that day I met your lines And stopped in time, To haunt me while I sleep; Slept all this line, The bones of all those lies, Seem fit to run their course And die ............................ Yet die in all those timeless nights They won't.
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