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Christopher J. Marsaglia
Poems
Nov 2010
Sonnet 130
Her eyes are not like the sun;
more red like coral red.
Her ******* are dun
and cold,
like snow.
Black wires grow on her head.
I think my love is rare
as any with false compare.
I know music hath a more
pleasing sound,
but I love to hear her
speak.
shakespeare*
Written by
Christopher J. Marsaglia
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