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Apr 2013
I don't believe that such a deed is allowed in human fate.
A made up rhyme cannot fathom the truth as I can you.
No matter the wondrous colors that shine through on a daily basis,
no matter the birds singing in the
autumn leaves,
there is no sun
there is no hope
The birds are singing, but they are
corpses in spring mulch.
emma joy
Written by
emma joy  CT
(CT)   
848
 
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