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gracesunderfire

this place
surely heaven
was fell from the dark
- a destiny shared
with luna
and lark

saved not by graces
or a night without dreams
of love growing silent -
remember

the lucid white weave
of present
to past
will never my first
be as sweet as the last

to lay me down
easy
beneath southern skies
where blackberry blooms
in December

. . .

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