16 May 2012
Nothing is new under the sun and, I wandered lowly as a cloud that floats on into the valley of death marched the stately pleasure dome.
My tongue is the pen of a skilful writer the ink runs low, I thirst. I cut out the words and rearrange them into a Hundred Thousand Billion Poems.
Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life. as I rehearse, rework, reword. expression eludes me, eloquence stutters: Come my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Plagiarism • Opuss № I