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Her wont on a sleeve
only made hour grieve
while fever fed a cold today
the road sought hither late
and zonked this dale
still clamored in her oath
she'd bid herself again
but to perish her affront
while inside my belt
only brought here by stock
would swelter in her seat
along highway oft-tried and
never abandoned till a rap
her deathly congestion, Alas
Swords and Roses Nov 2015
An amalgamation of a conglomeration of scents forming the universe.

— The End —