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Flatfielder Nov 2020
Mornings early
There is no rush
Time in between
Where to find ones touch
Physic and mind
In darkness
Horizons becoming bright
Feeling imaginations
**** creatures align
Hearts beating
Blood rushing
Veins returning there cargo
Alive there is living
To be done
Sheets are clinging
(c)near_lane7
Surreal thoughts, more so
When penned

— The End —