FotoKritik

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Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Winterlike play in a spring time lament
Of different flowers rosebud is the except
That of hate and that with love smelled.
Yet not a puf of cigar in darkened lungs
Neither salvation of leukocyte nor the blood's
T'is the hour to swerve back to the mind
When wisdom-painted disquise rapes the heart.

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