Dorotea

Pure and rose her libs smile,
her kiss's test of rare spices.
Silk vest, adorn her breasts,
where every puckish man dream to rest.

She is free like the wind,
like a butterfly journey, like bees making honey,
At the hills where she grow up and play.
Where her dreams are laughing all day.

At the sun shine, like a beautiful swine,
That bowed his head, with grace and shy.
Her eyes enchanted, is where her soul guise.
The Purity and beauty of life

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