There are two birds sitting on a nest on a tree
Some things that can only be whispered here.
The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May, the merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day, And the chaffinch it is brooding on its gray mossy nest, In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast,
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The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May, the merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day, And the chaffinch it is brooding on its gray mossy nest, In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast,
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Checkpoint & LoRA
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