Thing of my desire, thing of my meloncholy, thing tireless hours and ire, thing that holds yet more untold. Like The moon Let the waning candle weep in it's waxing mass Yet lo the night burns faster then the candle wick upon my table.
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Author:
Pigeon (
Offline) - Published: December 22nd, 2017 17:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
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