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Jun 2017
Texture flood the bay high across the top.

Hickory medal, shop the tavern now filled with falling rock.



A man he was 30 feet tall.

A giant maybe, yes it was that he is.
Grapple from mountain's to the board walk that can't hold no longer.

His sheer, size and weight, was too much two hold and the nail's came shooting into the sky so old.



Women are what he seeks for his potion he made in a week.

It was to make her a giant and his companion.
Giant are here.
They sleep on tops of great mountains.
Written by
Timothy hill  Ny
(Ny)   
  223
 
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