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Upon a season's glee, dearest, husband of ill
reprise my gentle eyes, whose teary nights summonds
forgotten rags, smiling by cut memories long forgotten
dearest, warm my cheeks by a stroke passing my lips
even in shallow winds would I sever my only limb
come and breathe softly, into the pockets of perfection
as a wife longs, and simmers callously in chilly noons
I mourn bestowed jealousies, whose line of regression
assures my full wisdom, through hunger I displayed
a filthy frame, to covet thine witty lies.
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