Please help me build a small boat
One that'll ride on the flow
Where the river runs deep
And the larger fish creep
I'm glad of what keeps me afloat
Sigrid Undset
It supposes to be delighted now she feels grief, she kisses over the dead head, the curly spread on the forehead, the dark skin, dark lips, as going through vicissitudes. At the same time, her son stand at the door, with pack on his back.
He killed his father, now he is gonna going elsewhere, like what his father did.
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