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Poem by J.C. Rouldon

Updated on April 30, 2016

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.


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