Mind Confusions
I'd not speak nor
Utter the pulse
That lowly travels
Blindly its course.
Sad, and many years …
Can soul, the instinct,
With love and fears,
Prop its burdened link?
Utter the pulse
That lowly travels
Blindly its course.
Sad, and many years …
Can soul, the instinct,
With love and fears,
Prop its burdened link?
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