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Post by sergosa on Aug 31, 2009 7:57:22 GMT -6
They call me a cricket. Consider as an unattractive pest. Confine my wishes with a nest. I am an insect, indeed. To dig a pit in the ground For my happy life I need.
But they all are wrong. I am a singer. My voice is sounding When Summer - from the Foliage, bushes and fields.. When Winter - I sing my songs For you. At your place. And no any fee for me. Except of little warm.
And cold winter's nights Became a stage for passed Summer's passions.
Don't call me a "pest". I am the magic singer!
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Post by anirbas on Aug 31, 2009 15:39:07 GMT -6
This is adorable, Serg! The images and thoughts of the cricket put me right into the "magic singer's" head. Thank you for sharing, mi compadre!
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