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Aug 2018
Somehow caught in the middle riding high upon a picket fence.
White washed easel penned my thoughts in recompense.
Somehow this feels all so rehearsed these spoon fed lines.
While laundered past remnants create
together knot sublime.
Somehow between want and desire
either the altar or the door.
Ella
Written by
Ella  57/F
(57/F)   
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