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J
James McLain
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winding up the mind to sea, the day of words
held dear to me.
I wonder, if any birds gazing down with winged
great haste this pace, I
set for me.
Nothing passed of beauty's word, played out have
all so ever heard by me, of anything other than
an expression from an over active
imagination took the
wrong path of he.
Gathered life of sorrows by an army eagles
unleashed those arrows
into the sea.
Bu şiiri puanla
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