Where waves travel with the slightest of worry.
Can I think it carries a sorrow?
It is full of a darken misery.
How can it sail those boats so easily? No one captain
is as sea sick as that ocean. In its deep delve earth holds
a few dead weights.
I don't know if its brain holds a fond memory, but Guineamen
threatened to die there before. The insured crops, their bodies,
a terrible mission suppressed to the feet of the sea.
However, no beverage is better than that ocean's beverage.
No fish suffers from those dull shackles, but, they too, have a
vow to slavery.
Give me love, books, wine, family, and some admired lonesome-
I die a vicious death.
Give it whole- there's no hope for a ocean that religions deaths.
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