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The letter is fictioned, but truly, I hope. The world of the Civil War 1861 - 1865. | ||
When cannon-balls are cutting heads I like to think of you. When Grays and Blues as crazy cats Blow up delightful yore - I want to deeply dig myself. And after powder battle steaming I wish to meet the little silver elf To whisper him my childish dreaming And save this elf from rusty death, And fill the air with smell of scent. So - hope and love, dear Beat, So - fall on heads, my lucky cent! As for the other things - the meat is meat, The blood is blood and armies on retreat...
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