Push for PORTER

izquierdaBlack Is The Colourderecha

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She's the sweetest smile, And
the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, whereon she stands.

I love my love and well she knows,
I love the ground, whereon she goes,
I wish the day, it soon would come,
When she and I could be as one.

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,
For satisfied, I ne'er can be,
I write her a letter, just a few short lines,
And suffer death, a thousand times.



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