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Dance Of Love 3

September wind blows into me,
like a lover
whispering sweet nothings n my ear,

n i shake out my blonde hair,
as the trees shake out there leaves
i dye it red,
red as the summer sun burns
as its heat lies dying
burning its embers across the dry and yellow grasses,

n i stretch myself across
his waiting arms,
fragile
n lonely,
while my soul prepares for
the cold darkness
of winters glittering nothing,

n mourn the sun,
the budding flowers of new love
have matured into this,
dying phaze,
his face now burned across my memories,
a melody that plays itself across my being

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