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Authors:

in a middle of a roomstands a suicidesniffing a Paper rosesmiling to a self"somewhere it is Spring and sometimespeople are in real: imaginesomewhere real flowers, but. I can't imagine real flowers for if Icould, they would somehownot Be real"(so he smilessmiling)"but I will noteverywhere be real toyou in a moment"The is blondwith small hands"& everything is easierthan I had guessed everything wouldbe; even remembering the way wholooked at whom first, anyhow dancing

E. E. Cummings