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Willing is not able to Achieve Woman daydreaming in the late hours, When frisky cooing doves on the roof, Your figure sleeping on quilts empty Where lies the desire to be loved. Say your name now is not worth it, Because the poem does not carry the sense Far away from this heart that beckons With promises to music by the wind. How much fire is in your eyes! Sparks stir up wanting you near, In my hands burning to burn you. There is no magic or miracle of prayer What's wrong can extract the right. I want all the sin that unknows purity! menestrelciablogspot