MOTHER
If I had a golden hill,
Kingdom, palace in which rill,
They would be kept so...;
Under thy feet, this I know.
Dreams are they, sorry mom.
Nothing have I in this calm.
Go my mother, yet be slow.
Toughts are mine to and fro.
Kingdom, palace in which rill,
They would be kept so...;
Under thy feet, this I know.
Dreams are they, sorry mom.
Nothing have I in this calm.
Go my mother, yet be slow.
Toughts are mine to and fro.
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