By Tatiana Schepkina-Kupernik
They say, I’m nice… They say, my look
Is like a dove’s coo, then a burning fire.
And my laugh is ringing with joy, as truth…
But don’t you love? What’s then it for me rather?
They say, that heavens bring the inspiration
For my muse, yet fanciful. And my life costs then higher
For the other people, they surely so say…
But don’t you love? What’s then it for me rather?
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