Touch
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Don't be angry; O Princess florist!
Merely my objectives not to make mess in your garden,
Want to touch your flower with ash-anointed hand;
Touch!
What begets?
Countless incidents can be happened,
Or nothing can be happened;
Touch!
Heard engrossed touch begets a sharp line of bluish lustre
And that line passed over asymptote at a quick pace
Bu şiiri puanla
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