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henthorn

Shrouded in secrecy, we wove webs of mystery, with the thread of a story, stained in history. By the warm glow of happiness, we saw the light clearly, colour, so rapturous, welcomed us dearly. As darkness fell, we gathered and caught it, blacker than pitch and softer than velvet. Night's own cloak which is worn with a smile, we tailored it so we might wear it a while, plucking it down from its place in the sky, silver buttoned as we see it on high. With the finest of scarves, laced from cloud cotton, which will dance in the breeze and be quickly forgotten. And we'll buckle our boots with the hills and the stone, lasting and constant, pure promise of home. The silk from the starlight, was taken and torn, sewn into a shirt that it still might be worn. On one hand, three rings, from Venus, for love, and from Mars on the other, a gauntlet, a glove. The moon's light, we see, it cannot fade, never, so we made half moon spectacles, that we might see forever. With slivers of moonlight we stitched up the seams, the sleep and the slumber, a new hat of dreams. And we play silent music on autumn blown leaves, signing the song of the wind in the trees, and we smile as the summer, of new life and sun, eyes glitter, like winter, of snow ice and fun. But as the sun rises, sunlight leads the way, and we greet it with handshakes to welcome the day. And though darkness has fled us, afraid of the morn, still, we stand proud, in the glittering dawn.


6
battles
2
king o hill
262
convinces

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