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■ The oak
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I softly Touch
the softness of the dusk that gazes deep into my eyes; I lean my yearnings against cotton clouds undone By the Northern Wind. Located at the South Of the scorn, only its consequence comes to me such a ghostly gust, in my daily World, a threatening eclipse. Strumming strings of wind I discover your voice And in it, a thousand clues, I learn through your Air Caresses to give in to the ambush of the Mermaid`s Song.
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