Dunk in dyes, tainted, nor tinted,
In world, not by its ways weathered;
Come, put a patch of love ‘pon me
That we get not ever severed;
Death, only your shelter is such,
Op-eyed can one sleep undeterred;
Roads wind not any straight for long,
Beware, feet, of their ways wayward.
Birds ask branches: you know wood well,
Who’ll opt, be spade’s...
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