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Ron Dondiego, click here
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Some dreams go on and on.
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This day the fabled rose
Of love does not seem to shine
This day the hours pass slowly
Like an old eremite, on his way
To the moss of the graveyard
This day the fabled rose
Of love does not cover me
With its endless scents
Of warmth and passion,
Or with the promises of life
This day is cold; this day
The wind blows through the ache
Of my bones - and I am lost
In the breath of a winter's frost
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| Reviewed by Regina Pounds |
7/15/2002 |
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I've known that particular chill. Excellent writing, Ron.
Gina |
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| Reviewed by Janet Caldwell |
9/5/2001 |
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| Beautiful words for a portrayal of sadness, I especially like this line;'The wind blows through the ache Of my bones' Very good work. JC |
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