When All the World's at Rest-
And Children sleep wearily on their Mother's Breast-
When I think of the times avec toi, I am blessed.
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And Colours, thou fadest and pulsate wildly;
And whilst I mourn for the Falling Leaves; Idly,
I wistfully wish for thy musical voice inside me: very very poetic and full of imagination.. tony
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And Colours, thou fadest and pulsate wildly; And whilst I mourn for the Falling Leaves; Idly, I wistfully wish for thy musical voice inside me: very very poetic and full of imagination.. tony