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Remember,
dearest dear that yearns for violins,
that tree,
Our moments' serum 'neath the leaves?
How do I pity
It. And quite

a bit.
It's sad forever,

never leaves.
(Was it a birch? I cannot say:
I was distracted, if I may)
That jealous branch
Can't join our simple blissful hug!

exclusive passions' avalanche
By which Neruda's path is dug.
Unlike a butter flown, I can so dwell

Upon a flower till it's curled...
Above the howling city I hear the knell

And dream of simple nature, summer-whirled.
Michelangelo's women come and go

(In your gifts, you are not stingy)
And I shall stay and so and so

How 'bout we speak about daVinci?
And I'm remorseless as can be:
You chose to spend that time with me.




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