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Giraffes can bore holes in your papers
You are always on my mind
Nurturing the weak, moulding the image
Cemeteries like libraries are silent
Chocolates do melt in winter.
In China ,my clothes are hid,
Perfumed with ON,sitting on ears
Hanging the pardon rosary on neck on Sundays
Shrugging off tags like ole, barawo ,thief
It’s only from earth you can look at heaven

Bose