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maanantai 6. maaliskuuta 2017

You're always on my mind



How it is to silent night
the stars the moon's hand
magic dust eat
some valley
Only an owl hooting
and the wind quietly grain sway.
I never you
told how well
can also be one of these
dreams stir up the air.
Do not tell me that
I dearest to you.
You can not ever
shackle steppe wild wind
you are a restless writing in
red lips.
I do not fit into any of the finished
mold, I do not strait-jacket image
frame.


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