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Saturday, July 15, 2006

Red

Her hair is red
and brown,
Slanted over her forehead,
it makes a laugh
And I sing.
She does not listen her music,
Just sing along with me
and lets her red roses all
over the floor,
Slipping, scratching, sinking
Her hands into my hands,
We sing together a few smiles
and listen she plays the guitar
Natasa To
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