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08/12/18 at 11:06PM
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Poetry
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I sometimes feel, like a thief, at night
That folds up his tent and flees.
Should I, then, make my lament
And head quickly, so quickly, into the trees?
Thief
I sometimes feel, like a thief, at night
That folds up his tent and flees.
Should I, then, make my lament
And head quickly, so quickly, into the trees?