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When it is love, there is no condemnation
but the whisper of the wind at play,
there is no sin in sincere glances,
nor sentences that stop the whole hours.
There is no guillotine to cut the way,
no daggers to wound the pure divine,
only a clean soul, in its fluid dance,
that embraces the world with unbridled faith.
Love that defies shadows and shackles,
that sweeps away the doubts, tears down the obstacles,
regardless of the prejudices of the day,
It blossoms in the breast like a melody.