Post #39
629 π§π΅πΆπ§π΅πΆπ§π΅πΆ
Post #31
560 Post #29
554 What came of her? The bitter nights
Destroy the rose and lily,
And souls are lost among the lights
Of painted Piccadilly.
What came of her? The river flows
So deep and wide and stilly,
And waits to catch the fallen rose
And clasp the broken lily.
I dream she dwells in London still
And breathes the evening air,
And often walk to Primrose Hill,
And hope to meet her there.
Once more together we will live,
For I will find her yet:
I have so little to forgive;
So much, I can't forget.
Post #24
309 Post #5
315 stalking doang, talking dong