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This poem about lilacs |
| Lilacs, wild as the breeze, reach out to me in pity; splashing purple across the white washed fence separating. Leaning over, tempting me, I yield to their beauty cutting off a lock when no one is looking; surrendering. Oh, what joy, if I could pen an ode so sweet; as only Longfellow could; As I press hard against, Spring's silky neck. inprisoned. |