elegance bride is extending my hands, it is your.
Spring passed, the hard birthing of life, winter
wearisome load often tell its tales. Am your
nightingale, let the restful place clad you a pillow
hover onto my breast. Fill it with your tries, your
ocean with un-measurable depth.
I understand the syllables, the failing language you
cannot speak in the Cosmo bubble's. I share no
power over you, come rest and refresh for the
coming winter.
This is my take today, and certainly there is hope to by.
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