Poem Ah, God, the way your little finger moved As you thrust a bare arm backward And made play with your hair And a comb a silly gilt comb Ah, God—that I should suffer Because of the way a little finger moved. In Love [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] Posted by: n\a | Rating: 5.00 0 Give your vote +5 Post Comment: Your name: Your Email: Comments :

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