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■ A wound that breathes Contact |
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2006-08-20 | | Submited by Marta Cremeny
My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
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