cove
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all the houses around the | cove | look closed up las casas |
walk unhampered down to the | cove | this ritual pleased me i |
plastic wrack this pretty little | cove | of sand and reeds clogged |
above the sea and the | cove | is fringed with orange trees |
down the road to the | cove | in the silent oppressive warmth |
mouth of the conch shell | cove | blowing into its spiral interior |
attached several kilometres above the | cove | where i stopped before tackling |
figure me standing in a | cove | off sa calobra road nothing |
we wandered down to the | cove | where we collected sea weed |
safety did the semi circular | cove | itself seem like the mouth |
the sea cliff skirts the | cove | of the mountain town fishermen |
the sea terraces above the | cove | every day i sought out |
a house high above the | cove | it sounds like the chopin |
through the mouth of the | cove | which on certain days has |
every direction except from the | cove | road where it cannot be |