Oh Spring! when the wings are made, the dead
Perhaps, have been coloured;
Of course, from my orifice to bone marrow,
There is still thrilling, making their abbey.
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Oh Spring! how many colors are you, paint colors?
New lifes blossom in your touchs:
Why delay me! ........drunkenness..... love in depth and intensity. spring as a symbol of real love....... very fine poem dear poet. tony
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Oh Spring! how many colors are you, paint colors? New lifes blossom in your touchs: Why delay me! ........drunkenness..... love in depth and intensity. spring as a symbol of real love....... very fine poem dear poet. tony