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Aug 3
It might be said:

The locks of her hair curled grey
As the clouds lurking along the overcast above.
Her legs stretched longer,
Tree trunks lengthening, but this time
With years to come.
She was aged, old, frail,
But yet young.
With the world to see,
To walk,
And live.
But it was one break, one fracture deep within,
Enough to render her disinterest
And detachment.
Daa Rajab
Written by
Daa Rajab  F/Australia
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