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Anti-Romantic, Olden-Time Old Indian Dad

Why are your clothes of yours with me?
Separate them.
When you come of age, you live not
In my room.
Talk you not with a young girl
And even if you,
Lowering down the eyes.
Smile you not,
Love you not the flower
As it is for the gods,

Not for you.
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Monday, June 16, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: art
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