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None were glad about
the stretching of omission,
the stretching of her skirt,
she started for the door.
What was she doing?
They were a procession of specters,
gasping to catch their breath,
the young men to train,
they will see you,
after watching awhile.
We had never seen so many people,
forked by this winter's prophecy.
Straddling the arms and legs
are the needle sharp fangs,
so you will be at the mercy of the flow.
It will be light soon,
the two images will converge.
Trying to escape the encroaching haze,
a building hoard sweeps discreetly
to start a war,
to break the truce.
The things she knew,
what he had told her to wear...
she sighed to herself,
stuffing the blanket into the corner.
You are all children.
We are all soldiers.
Everyday, led by the collar,
before we have a chance
to reach the walls.
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