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The Giver

Tainted gold fills my lips,
And the stars never seemed brighter,
But somehow they dull,
Compared to you,
How perfection has been given,
Only here,
I do not know,
Take a trip with me?
Take a trip off to the winter’s forest,
The air is quiet,
And I can breathe,
So we shall dance and play charades,
Laugh with mirth as we do,
I do not fill with jealousy,
Though if I did,
Of you I would be,
Yet you do not inspire,
Such vices,
But rather,
You make admiration,
For this tale you weave,
Though I hope,
In the end,
You left some words,
Some words left for yourself.





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