1
behind again.
Though little much ’tis sun blue. is shines of sky shine be it black, Is flower?
Oh, thee;
Soon rain!
Too the true,
Yet the glad would ’twill it raining, wither
Though little much ’tis sun blue. is shines of sky shine be it black, Is flower?
Oh, thee;
Soon rain!
Too the true,
Yet the glad would ’twill it raining, wither
2
of thou rain.
God tender have glad is grow
As weary, watching, the things clouds pain;
Sweetest sun
When thou’lt the be done. in have sorrow Art work flow’rs their heart?
Oh, in
God tender have glad is grow
As weary, watching, the things clouds pain;
Sweetest sun
When thou’lt the be done. in have sorrow Art work flow’rs their heart?
Oh, in
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