Regret
You said you would no more forget me
Than the densely green pine
Would wither in the fall.
That familiar face is there still.
The moon in the ancient lake
Complains of the transient tide.
I still glimpse your figure,
But how I dislike this world.
Than the densely green pine
Would wither in the fall.
That familiar face is there still.
The moon in the ancient lake
Complains of the transient tide.
I still glimpse your figure,
But how I dislike this world.
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