What I told the wind

I am not jealous,

of what is previous,

come with a rose scent,

the hundred letters I sent.

come with your french girls,

brown nice curls.

come with the woman you caress,

the beauty you witness.

come with the last beer,

but let me tell you my dear,

we shall always be alone,

you shall always tell me the story of the one gone.

Thilleli G.

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