stanzas
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You may call me a dreamer To which I would reply Any man who doesn’t dream Is not my type of guy. “A dream is mere illusion,” say the Unenlightened ones. “So’s reality,” I’d say And not nearly as much fun.
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Absinthe for the lady. Brandy for the gent. The night feels like it’s just begun. And time is heaven-sent. And though the hours drain me as I Stifle one more yawn, The silhouette of lovers can be Seen across the lawn. Buy my book! Free with Kindle Unlimited!