Love Poems.
Love, love, a habit dressed
which of your cloth was cut;
the width dress was tighter
and narrow when he was on me.
After what I agreed here,
such repentance has taken me,
I try sometimes, of anguish,
to break this in that I got.
But who can get rid of this habit,
taking so contrary their very nature,
that he has come to settle?
If any part is by chance
my reason, I dare not show;
that this contradiction is not sure.
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