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■ The oak
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2006-02-28 | | Submited by Dan.
Far away, far away,
Far away from here... There is no worry after joy Or away from fear Far away from here. Her lips were not very red, Not her hair quite gold. Her hands played with rings. She did not let me hold Her hands playing with gold. She is something past, Far away from pain. Joy can touch her not, nor hope Enter her domain, Neither love in vain. Perhaps at some day beyond Shadows and light She will think of me and make All me a delight All away from sight.
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