Karen When You Call
J
James McLain
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Passion flows out..voice..
Hard you still cry..for it..
Is it still open.. the bush...
does the rose...dirt bed..
Still bloom...tracks on grass..
after three long years..dew is..
My thorn..it stayed bloody sharp..
so bloodied..little beast impaled..
You flush in song...humming birds...
that sing at dawn..hush in quiet..
Seven..July..Two Thousand Nine..
Bu şiiri puanla
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