Shostakovich's 8 - Poem by Liza Sud
He looks into my eyes,
and calls me to himself,
he's tender and he's mild.
I cann't throw off embrace.
I stand under his dome,
don't want to go away.
I'm caught by his love, caught!
And born by God - again!
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You