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TO ----
´¯`°·`·´·°´¯`♥´¯`°·`·´·°´¯`
Music,when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory----
Odours,when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sence they quicken.
II
Rose leaves,when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts,when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
http://zimbad3.peperonity.com
--o0[] cyber friend site []0o--
