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Jul 2017
It glows warm on her breast, polished
symbol of her life attachments,
subtly marking loving passion,
needing no flashing sparkling zest.

Once the scent of ancient pine,
gooey, enticing insect trap,
transluscent shroud for their remains,
since washed ashore between those
sheer, crumbling, shortbread cliffs.
Written by
Tony Luxton  Runcorn
(Runcorn)   
  371
     JS Clark and ---
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