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Aug 2010
If love is a garden, growing green,
And lock'd away, to be ne'er seen,
Then mine is dead and abused,
Neglected and disused.
For while you toil and labor,
I seek only favour.

For Love is only cruel;
Life's unpleasant gruel
And pleasure should reign,
As forthwith we gain
And stride to endeavor
Ourselves to find pleasure.
Summer, 2010
Written by
Abigail Miller
1.4k
     anne collins and D Conors
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