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All Dead

In the Springtime of my growing

The Summer of my knowing

Sown were the seeds for all my hopes and dreams

 

Through the rain and muddy water

There came up fragile flowers

To share with all my lovers

Where I expected trees

 

Being young, naive, and caring

I left my gate for sharing

Now trampled are my flowers

Trampled by my lovers

And the feet of many others

...

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