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January 21, 2013

 

 

She often speaks of violets

with their damning perfume,

and bodies from her past,

she hardly dare exhume.

 

She speaks of golden sequins

when she was a chorus girl,

and lovers far and wide,

who sent her in a whirl.

 

She never speaks of heartache,

for that’s hers alone to keep,

but she cries a thousand rivers

for a love, buried so deep.

 

 

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