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Apr 2014
Wooden table and a ****** nose
Flows lightly, osculating it’s wood
And if only this could be felt in prose
Only verse can reflect my mood

Clock ticks in the background
I breathe slowly, in acceptance
The excruciating lack of sound
Is breaking my will to dance

And one last song I’d give to Terpsichore
But I don’t have the time any more.
Frederico Coelho Reis
Written by
Frederico Coelho Reis  Portugal
(Portugal)   
621
 
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