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The Nights

The Nights

1 min
254


There's a little yearn and

Fancy,

To ramble upon those wet meadows;

Breathe the mist in air, merged

With the leaves rustling on the trees about the edges.


Where street lights stammer to lighten intercept,

When from the neighbourhood,

Visits the melody of someone's flute;

Someone

Dwelled into the night,

For awaken till this hour of it.


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