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This one's for you, Paul

Or rather, from you...in a strange sort of way..

This poem the poor Little hatchet far separate (a first love you know it Is about the age of life into my Lj and faint now I have made to the nenuphar). On the violet haired. Telling the story was as the pond exactly the storm's increase, closer and light sooner I must die, I trusted her the original LA City was exquisitely a young love dances, Having a girl, then and of manna moods in return, in a dog at the metaphorical lame as a souvenir of government land on her at a chance. Even now I have also suggests. Not nor her black sea of her eyes from My E.

-- studentdriver51

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