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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 22:24:17 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 5202
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => No Title
[time] => 2002-10-17 08:30:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Although my eyes today carry a greyness
and I intercepting only the gloominess words among the frontage of the houses, in spite of that, I am hurrying, grabbing century of the day. I standing still only at the doorstep, like always and just the wind have time to sing a cradle song for passerby. The night will be fall down. I am listening, past time born somwhere between. You feel in to the sleepy, forgoten my picture. Downstairs on the gravel a tired firsherman wasted one's own fish. But supper didn't guilty, if not to be done. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 170 [topic] => 32 [informant] => SA_RA [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SadPoetry )
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