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She thinks she loves me,
She’s telling friends.
The kind of love,
That never ends.
I cannot talk,
Unless her name.
Escapes my lips,
Once more; again.
I have become,
A frightful bore.
Each little thing,
I love her more.
We must present,
A sorry pair.
And yet and yet,
We are a PAIR.
To face our fate,
Where is the plan.
That will create us,
Girl and man?
Who gives a jot,
When life is fun?
As fear and doubt,
Are overcome.
To think as one,
Is not our aim.
But one plus one,
Creates a team.
This friend to all,
A friend to me.
I stand proud,
My mind is free.
Let life wash on,
And wash me clean.
For I have found,
My ever dream.
Ignatius
Writealot
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