And The Cicada Sings
E La Cicala Canta
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Count, count the petals, loves me, loves me not. Trembling
near the last, the heart, shudder of doubt. Can the daisy
deceive if innocent? They fall down, count, lost battered by
the wind poor lover's heart, hoping from the candid daisy the truth,
it does not of your pains, cannot count the petals. Silently
falling without protest hoping to bring not pains for the sacrifice.
Tiny delight daisy of lovers anguish and pain, and beautiful you
are. Loves me, loves me not.