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My Love, The Chimney-Sweep MAG
My love arrives by simple means of foot,
A knight in shining armor he is not.
He's grimy from head to toe, covered with soot.
A chimney-sweep, he brings his broom and pot.
He brings me flowers when he comes at twilight.
The sweet smelling lilies are fresh picked.
We stay close 'til the end of the summer night,
When women gather the milk in pails, dew slicked.
Then he slips out back away from my love,
For one more day I must be without him.
As I work, day passes on wings of doves,
ATil he comes again, kissing me on a whim.
Tonight he brings me baskets filled with roses,
Bends down on one knee and he proposes.