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Night of four moons,
and one lone tree,
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She's in a world of faeries,
there on the cluttered floor
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I am mourning you today.
You seem to be tapping on soul's shoulder,
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The miracle of life from a magical spark; a strike of a match, and a hearts starts the beat of the world inside a mother's womb.
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The first line must heave brilliant,
wretch and dry,
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branches, knobby knuckles,
smooth lines of life
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Airs heavy with hearth fires
cling to clothes hung on heartstrings
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reminders of my colossal mistake, leaving-
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Upon my lap your tousled head did lay,
your hair blown fine by heady, scented breeze.
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Poem by Prince Felipe of Asturius to Doņa Letzia Ortiz
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I bring the slivered-colored spoon to my mouth.
Slowly, a puddle of good
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Tonight my food was cold as eyes were wet.
It went down hard yet nourished me a bit.
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