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A LOVER'S PLEA
The sun likes going down,
Very early these days;
Is it a message to lovers,
Heart-broken...to frown,
At the wound left by the stab:
Deep down...by the beloved,
By gulping drink after drink,
Till all remembrance drowns!
Where is the lost tavern?
Where is the cup bearer?
Who can mend cleft hearts
With her wine... made in Heaven!
