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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#480351voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Lead me to the mere where beryl waters sway, take my hand by break of day. Fresh are the flowers which grow to the North, eyes upturned to mountain silhoutte, their constant pr...
Lead me to the mere where beryl waters sway, take my hand by break of day. Fresh are the flowers which grow to the North, eyes upturned to mountain silhoutte, their constant pr...