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Jan 2016
There; in the horizon of the furthest state,
    Speaks the death of the Holy Gate;
No roads lead to the desert of wonder,
    Except for the mirage just yonder,
In the eyes of this humble crystal tear -
    So these misfortunes may lowly appear -
To march the band out of it’s bay,
    For a sound was not made - on the dying day.
Charlotte Huston
Written by
Charlotte Huston  25/F/Brooklyn
(25/F/Brooklyn)   
531
 
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