“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.” ― William Butler Yeats
If you knew, I was a sinner, Would you luv, me, still?
Still, I am, A sinner, still.
Never moving, Never growing.
Dammed, I am, By choice, My own.
To grow, I must, Be dammed, no more.
Yet I luv, You, still.
I love to collect thoughts. I would love to collect some of yours, if they are mindful and respectable.
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I love to collect thoughts. I would love to collect some of yours, if they are mindful and respectable.