Viva, viva olive oil.
It 's a lascivious rhymes,
game without appearance.
The song of a minstrel
irony handyman.
's a joke light
only sleepy minds.
Of those that flow
between the smoky pillowcases
in a yellow
awakening on Sunday morning.
the raccoon Tibetan
no, you do not give a hand.
another round, another joke.
As priced.
A couple of notes,
a puff of pillows.
Puff! The magic dragon!
A smile that is rooted,
raising the trunk grows, shrinks
branches
and vibrant blossoms into a laugh.
ringing.
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