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lost love poem

i walk down the garden paths
the poets tell
why do you always stand there shivering
a storm is riding on the tide
and how could you dream of meeting
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
often is it not so?
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
since, if you stood by my side today
the old songs
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
it tells of good old times

 



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