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Bernard F. Asuncion
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I-t's January eighteenth,
M-aking you feel fine;
E-arly Wednesday morning
E-xpects the beacon will shine.
D-arkness and shadows
A-re nowhere in sight;
C-rimson rays up above
A-re setting things aright.
N-ew dawn has broken,
A-iming to bring pure pleasure;
Y-our heart is truly bathed, as the sun smiles at your picture.
Bu şiiri puanla
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