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no stroke of pen or line of art
can capture you the way you did to my heart;
no word of poem or heart of novel
can tell how hard, to you, I fell.

will you ever hold my heart?
I worry.
you're too pretty to be in my art,
I'm sorry.

my drawings and paintings
look ugly next to you.
you're never just one of my musings;
I'd hand them all to you.

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