Wild woman (21.)

Wild woman,

When did your soul become so restless?

Has the thought of giving up occupied your head?

Isn't it you who sat beneath the moon claiming no finger could ever grace your slin, not a man could tame such a spirit?

Don't be fooled by this troubling drought

You see, 

flowers only wither if they are dead. 

◄ sad little soul

scandalous crime ►


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