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When I was little:
      I loved neighbor's daughter:
         and she loved me back.
  There was a great murmur on the cherries from our love:
            we two were still wedged in some branch of the fruit industry:
        yes: the wind always combed us in the distance:
  and the morning crossed us on the horizon.

Those were beautiful times.
      Grandma's Christmas breads wrote hot verse quipus:
    on the sledge was sealing wax:
  and then: the summer came again
and peas and corn broke into our thoughts:
   and the old water pump was brimming with biting self-confidence:
      and in the watering barrel the little hand drills gamboled:
              from which mosquitoes later disembarked:

It would have certainly lasted forever:
    if she had listened to me and not swallowed those little chocolate figures whole.
  One day 
    shortly after Christmas 
 she said to me: wanker.
       I knew it was coming:
            she had already eaten too much darkness by then.