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The fragrance of the rose, would I smell and remember, draw it into my nose, even now, if I could. How does one take such a thing and remember? Almost cinnamon, sweet spice, moist, tender. All that I am dreaming is you.
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The fragrance of the rose, would I smell and remember, draw it into my nose, even now, if I could. How does one take such a thing and remember? Almost cinnamon, sweet spice, moist, tender. All that I am dreaming is you.
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© Joan Lansberry