johndonne
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Thee were laying under the pale moonlight,
Nor i, neither any of the soul can escape from this night.
I wonder, if thou is made up from stars?
Or the stars came there from afar.
I was adoring the show of glitters,
Falling asleepTo your own bad poetryOf two yesteryears agoIs like the discomfort thatGrows when you firstRealize that you've madeThe worst of all possibleMoves in a chess game
