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January
The book is staring in the eyes.
Scent of the rose is still alive,
Words in the letter are still wailing into the nights
So young to cry,
So mature to hide.
Heart still bleeding in silence of the twilight.
© banrakas poetry
Scent of the rose is still alive,
Words in the letter are still wailing into the nights
So young to cry,
So mature to hide.
Heart still bleeding in silence of the twilight.
© banrakas poetry
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