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Dec 2017
the stars parade,
the moon curves into
the night broods
in a frosty sky,

footsteps follow
like the witching hour
in her emerald

kiss me, sweet boy,
let me rest
in your arms,
sing a song of
love into the
night tide,

sway with you
in a ghostly

sunken like
a blue pool
beneath the

where our
forever begins
in the unravelling
of the old moon.
beth stclair
Written by
beth stclair  England
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