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Poem by J.C. Rouldon
Fell on a Pit Called Love
I have this but to regret the truth
And yet, the mere is just, of fine;
I have to move out of here, my dove,
Because I fell on a pit called Love.
Does my recklessness knows no bound
Neither I've not pretended nor pretend than I -
It's, the youth, what I gained, alas!
Pretend as I care the mass.
Fling! Like a stone in a shot.
Creep! like a shadow in morrow's sun.
Where on earth, my dove, I came to thee -
I'm with you up here, my love, and to never flee!
Crying, begging and standing still and firm
In a crowd, there I, stood as the rain come.
Fasten as soils became mud, muddy place
There is no vacancy of such space.