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untitled She left in the Spring; April to be exact. He took no joy in her leaving, yet knew it unfair to ask, though would gladly beg, her to stay. She had been his first love, something that seldom lasts over half a century, but she left in the Spring; April to be exact, when crocus and tulip bloom and cut iris and daffodill stand in green cups showering color on carved granite. |
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