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Nov 4
The gorse withers on the ground
The Sin is autumnally thin
Silence hithes in blue
Those roughshed days
are scattered with the leaves

Schemes are forgotten
Feelings disposed
Into the chamber of nothingness
do we ascend

Lamenting
Guitars are trickling
And the lamp lightly lit
We have come to dream
Written by
antony glaser  61/M/croydon
(61/M/croydon)   
59
     Thomas W Case and Jill
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