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You know, I just want to leave it alone.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
Last edited by JustShakey; May 02, 2016 at 12:37 AM.
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