What was life without the woman?
Only a dead and misty sea where you missed the sun, wind, everything life and excitement gave. And obsessed with the longing man wanted peace in towards the beach.
Fry saw no smoke in there, knew no coffee aroma,
there was no loving woman watchful in the hazy air,
sounded no child laughter out in the fog again.
Or up towards the mountain peak through the forest gullies,
he stormed off blindly, listening to the lid and nap.
But if no tone totally tricked his mandemod was shaken.
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