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May 2015
Fast-moving shadows dance across the bridge
while the stars light fires in the night
Slowly I limp after with grit in my shoe
You won't think of me now, will you?

The night gradually grows ever so cold
and the shadows scene is so serene
Watching their dance I feel much too old
When did our lives become this obscene?
translation of one of my swedish poems
Sebastian
Written by
Sebastian
442
 
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