22 November, 2008 at 15:55 (Uncategorized)

And is it love then?
The truest sort that causes bards to write?
Only I couldn’t tell.
And early flush, of something I’d brush by,
one day I’ll tell you,
just exactly when I was happiest,
but for now,
hold me in arms that want another,
and let us dream,
this was all new.

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