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by Mariu Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Opinion · #1686207

Things that we keep, only because they remind us of some grief we felt in the past.

My precious thing,
sadness does it bring.
But love to me it also sings.
God does it sting.

They cut my wings,
these precious things.
A bird far away sings,
to my precious things.
God, does it sting.
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