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Push off, and sitting well in order smite
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With small cuts Cro-Magnon man recorded the
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On the roads, blue thistles, barely
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Each midnight (thrice daily) I scan
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do you need
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And in close darkness the aroma grows so sweet,
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I saw my reflection on the water,
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The woman saw me and smiled. “What you are I cannot say,
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rock-cedar and sand plants
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We want the spring to come and the