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Photo: E. Glas Durboraw

Money is lovely; love succumbs to money.
What in the world shall tell us where to go
but words of love, and money? Say it's so,
say stay, a little longer drink my honey.
I am the earth, and you the wind; I wonder
where shall the strong wind blow, for I must stay -
my feet so deeply rooted in the clay.
Love, and not money, tears my earth asunder.
Your words are what I wait for; hope most dear,
this hope that lingers, fingering my soul,
will always overcome my self control.
For though I wail a week, or heal a year,
nothing could hurt me hard as not to know
if words are love; or loving money, will you go?

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