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Writer
1 min
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He said my eyes were like fishes
Swimming in the deep waters
Shining golden in the blue river.
He was a writer, he had spilt his magic ink.
He said my figure was mesmerizing
With its own set of twists and curves
Beautiful in its wheatish complexion.
He was a writer, he had spilt his magic ink.
He said so many good things
As much for you as for me
He made all of us feel happy about ourselves.
He was a writer, he had spilt his magic ink.
