donderdag 18 februari 2010

Love Poems

I almost wish we were butterflies,
and lived but three summer days.
Three such days with you I could
fill with more delight than fifty
common years could ever contain.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
its loveliness increases;
it will nev
er pass into nothingness.

bah. weer zo'n bui.

Farewell, fair cruelty.

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