It worried me that day
When he quoted again
Something from my book
And I asked, after nodding,
“Who wrote that?”
No, I wasn’t embarrassed
That I’d forgotten my words.
I was ashamed I had lost
Touch with a beautiful me.
It worried me that day
When he quoted again
Something from my book
And I asked, after nodding,
“Who wrote that?”
No, I wasn’t embarrassed
That I’d forgotten my words.
I was ashamed I had lost
Touch with a beautiful me.
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