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Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these She a window flower And he a winter breeze.
— Robert Frost
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One leaf left on a branch and not a sound of sadness or despair. One leaf left on a branch and no unhappiness. One leaf left all by itself in the air and it does not speak of loneliness or death. One leaf and it spends itself in swaying mildly in the breeze.
— David Ignatow
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