I don`t know one damned butterfly from another my ignorance of the stars is formidable, also of dogs & ferns except that around my house one destroys the other When I reckon up my real ignorance, pal, I mumble "many returns"— next time it will be nature & Thoreau this time is Baudelaire if one had the skill and even those problems O At the mysterious urging of the body or Poe reeled I with chance, insubordinate & a killer O formal & elaborate I choose you but I love too the spare, the hit-or-miss, the mad, I sometimes can`t always tell them apart As we fall apart, will you let me hear? That would be good, that would be halfway to bliss You said will you answer back? I cross my heart & hope to die but not this year.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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