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“We do not speak of religion, nor politics here, ” he sternly warned, as if some terrible fate would befall us in the pub For speaking so. I declined the going home with him for a cuppa tea, sure it would lead to things more intimately said, or done. “I’ll google you, ” I said, and so I did. sweet man who was, as he said he was, a poet, Who wove a spell around my lavender heart, while I stopped briefly in West Cork.
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