My Travels
You are my Ireland.
Your eyes are moors.
Your hands are angels.
Your hair is Autumn.
Your lips are frosting.
I am a fog,
an early rain.
My heart is yours.
My eyes are drawn.
My hands are velvet.
You are my Ireland.
Your eyes are moors.
Your hands are angels.
Your hair is Autumn.
Your lips are frosting.
I am a fog,
an early rain.
My heart is yours.
My eyes are drawn.
My hands are velvet.
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