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"bridging" poems
When gentle breezes turn into gale,      remember that you will prevail.        You may tear at these pages daily, in search of peace and tranquillity.    Planting hope and scattering wishes,     Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...        Flying out of the dark on      wings of birds.        Bridging the rippling void through            severed words.                 ***Seeking...              Reaching...                Imploring...             Writing...***      Be not wary of eyes that speak.   Be not afraid of mouths that leak. Know that our scribbles are only    sacred to us.        Emotions and thoughts we            bind and truss.   What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...      Bits of us we've kept hidden in the darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves. You...       are wielder of your mighty pen. You...       determine how far or long your          words would span.    Your words... They're precious gold. Many or little; be them new or old. So let drip your ink with little reservation...   Let us grow from strength to strength      as life teaches its lessons.    Rise up and live on in these here pages,      For here exist only          freedom;                not cages.
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Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:53 AM UTC
Freedom Pages
I love your eyes. Wet, filled with desire. I love them most when they stare back into mine. Not a word needs to be said. A breath between us two, Each craving met, my eyes trailing yours. The way they bend shut when your legs stretch out and your arms wrap around me. The natural curling of toes When your eyes widen before closing tight. I love looking into your eyes. This feel good feeling that interrupts each kiss. A gasp filled behind closed eyes. A roaring ****** that rumbles behind them. The arch felt across the small of your back. Bridging the gap of a swaying bridge. Your body in the comfort of my hands. A soft kiss below your temple. Welcoming your shyness. Those eyes that follow the movement of your head. I love the way you look at me and bite your bottom lip. Welcoming the audience of my eyes. Catching every glimpse, Not a thought held back behind those eyes. Our passion held between us two. Lost in the rumble of how your body trembles. Over and over, Until your fast asleep
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Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
Asleep
This's a summary of time Minds in sync Hearts in sync Souls cohere Dopamine surge Gaze synapsed Luscious air Blush and smile Silence heard I was there You were there And in the very moment It was us With all being I am you And you are me In knowing you I have known myself This is all I want to show you What you've been missing All the possibilities We will reach To the places You've only heard of All the way And the journey begins Bridging forever That simple
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Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 8:30 PM UTC
That's Chemistry
it is an impossibility to have a foot in two camps for those who choose to have divided loyalties there is no bridging ramp either they are friend or foe they cannot have a toe in both boroughs
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Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
Divided Loyalties
grinding myself hard onto your unzipped pants i imagine clipping into your body and shattering your programming our lips meander into each other breaking california law, and simultaneously finding anatomical peace your **** thrusts through slacks an angry fist and I wonder how eager my mouth looks on you ******* the decade between us bridging the age gap with a rope of ***** lip to ***** in awe that I am capable of making you *** silly and heavy with excited hands i fumble with my pants, tucking my knees into my chest to slide them off my feet my stomach disobeys me, spilling out holding onto something desirable of mine so tight you crush my fleeting abstinence
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Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
******* you
I found myself buried deep within the womb of creation Lost, I climbed through the mud of life Pulling myself up on the bones of the ancients I broke through to the light, and heard the earth cry Rise, Woman, Rise I looked upon the face of the eternal Reaching upward, I tried to touch the sky So with my feet planted firmly in the past I grew toward the future, bridging both earth and divine And in me, the words rose once more, Rise, Woman, Rise After I had bridged the heavens, After I had delved through the mud I branched out towards the stars surrounding Souls glittering in the lonely sky Beckoned by a need, I reached to them But just out of reach, they twinkled distantly When a single answer I heard them call Rise, Woman, Rise And from my roots, I grew down deeper And from my arms, I reached out high With my fingers, stretched out longingly Glancing over them, I swept the sky Fingers clasped my own in their hands Pulling me towards their brilliant light Connected, I am tied to the universe Woven into the web of life And now, when I see another reaching, I cry out the words that brought me here, Rise, Woman, Rise
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Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Rise, Woman, Rise
Time is the eternal sculptor Chiseling away through centuries To create innovative masterpieces Where many facets of life emerge Bridging the past, present and future Shaping the moments we dwell in Where events are scheduled To display the varied installations Which cannot be replicated Recorded in the chronicles of time When our world will fade away But time will be there till eternity Relentlessly sculpting for the future For, time brings change And everything changes, except time itself
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Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
Time
What a life! So short, yet looking very long Offering so much but leaving souls yearning for some more. Questions like; what it is, where it is and how to get through, Keeps the mind wondering and the soul with a vacuum If you know the creator of heaven and earth And believe He sent His only Son in your stead Who suffered shame and hung on the cross till death Then you are an heir and you breathe the father’s breath If you know that the father knows you not And you feel like you’re ripe for that place that’s hot If you’re stained and can’t be cleaned with water from tap. Then, like a lost traveler, you are lost and in need of a map If you believe you’re lost and desire direction Reach for the Son whose spirit gives the instruction. Engraved in His stripes is the way that leads to life You only need to believe and He'll take your strive The father has a home above, kept as our treasure And desire to redeem man from his fall to this place of pleasure He sent the son to make a way and stand in the gap Bridging the way to our treasure; so we could follow Him the map
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Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
Eyeing on the Treasure
Broken into a million pieces, living in this fear to break into a million more, Making sure to tread with caution, making sure I don't scream when I step on the thorns, making sure I couldn't recall the last time I felt pain and mourned. But someone felt my void inside, Someone taught me there are no mistakes that cannot be healed She taught me “healing exists to connect and not to perfect beings”. I have found someone that makes me adore these fragments in me. She is an alchemist working with gold, healing those imperfections, not hiding them in deep, shaping them with trust, molding them to fit back in, trying to restore me with her palms, blessing her magic on me with that sacred art of Kintsugi. Now the healed scars are in the shape of roses and daffodils, now the vulnerabilities look gorgeous in me. Her love is bridging my broken pieces, now those lost and empty pieces are looking vivid. Kissing those palms which made me believe, breathing under her serenity, now I felt peace in my reality. Every imperfection seems unique to me. Fragility, strength, and beauty, now seem almost synonymous to one another. To the one who rooted this resilience in me, you mean the world to me.
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Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 12:24 PM UTC
Kintsugi
bridging across time and emotional space trails of fate coming together tying in neat little knots twisting strands of DNA and the oils of our skin cheap coffee, chewing gum and newspapers read by serious men crying children and hollow adults (crying on the inside) dingy humans walk clean floors to fly
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Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
airport
it was like waking up to all white fume or a long washline — masturbatory, feeling something stiff like a hand gliding over a monsoon of emotions, the affect jazz and the crunch of fragrance forever like sandalwood; on my way to Dumandan, i conjure an inward miasma of thrill, unfurled yesterday, today, or was it before when our eyes were fixated on the passing of things in myriad ways without any relevance to what has died, say wilted, like a flower going away in closing seasons, children in hurtling speeds at twilight, gates welcoming a resounding sound of rusting hinges, slow rise of night, its vertical climb, shadows collapsing on the Hibiscus and the Poinsettia from the Cordillera, dreary men taking out ******* throwing them into metalloid beasts, verdigris painted, grisly caravan of steel and worthless scraps — past neighborhoods thinking about the simmer of onion and the hustle of the feral over rooftops, clinking wine bottles undulating full to empty — both unaware of acumen and only dizzying ourselves mirroring each other eye to eye and bridging this unclose-enough a gap in between, because you need it, and i want it, or simply in reverse, a sidewinding thought through dunes of afterthought. because you have to walk my side of the Earth and I have to meet you somewhere halfway where we can both lounge at each other's steady presence while the flyblown dry air ravishes the piquant morning, all-telling what this distance meant from its peak up to the very last traceable steps where i found you and you found me, trilling in the neighborhood like how void stills itself into all the mood of the Earth: all moony and fretting in the disquiet.
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Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
Past Neighborhoods
it was like waking up to all white fume or a long washline — masturbatory, feeling something stiff like a hand gliding over a monsoon of emotions, the affect jazz and the crunch of fragrance forever like sandalwood; on my way to Dumandan, i conjure an inward miasma of thrill, unfurled yesterday, today, or was it before when our eyes were fixated on the passing of things in myriad ways without any relevance to what has died, say wilted, like a flower going away in closing seasons, children in hurtling speeds at twilight, gates welcoming a resounding sound of rusting hinges, slow rise of night, its vertical climb, shadows collapsing on the Hibiscus and the Poinsettia from the Cordillera, dreary men taking out ******* throwing them into metalloid beasts, verdigris painted, grisly caravan of steel and worthless scraps — past neighborhoods thinking about the simmer of onion and the hustle of the feral over rooftops, clinking wine bottles undulating full to empty — both unaware of acumen and only dizzying ourselves mirroring each other eye to eye and bridging this unclose-enough a gap in between, because you need it, and i want it, or simply in reverse, a sidewinding thought through dunes of afterthought. because you have to walk my side of the Earth and I have to meet you somewhere halfway where we can both lounge at each other's steady presence while the flyblown dry air ravishes the piquant morning, all-telling what this distance meant from its peak up to the very last traceable steps where i found you and you found me, trilling in the neighborhood like how void stills itself into all the mood of the Earth: all moony and fretting in the disquiet.
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He raised up his head, Trying to speak, Yet speaking nothing. She opened her mouth, Trying to mutter words, Yet nothing coming out. I can't breathe Words never to be forgotten I can't breathe Words we carry on placards I can't breathe Words kicking down whiteness I can't breathe Words doing-away with racism I can't breathe Words demanding equality I can't breathe Words bridging the white and black gap I can't breathe Words changing the times I can't breathe Words destroying white supremacy I can't breathe Words uniting colors I can't breathe Words uniting races I can't breathe Words signifying unity I can't breathe Words causing race inequality uproar I can't breathe Words knocking down white brutality I can't breathe Words ending police brutality I can't breathe Words Great words Creating equality for all race Ending police brutality Doing-away white supremacy Uniting all race Uniting all colors A must for all nations Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
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Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 8:40 AM UTC
I Can't Breathe
Glorifying amidst the snowy mountains bestowing rivers  with a splendid shine searching a land to shower its warmth in a dense grassland, sun rises with the dawn like  the spring blooming life in the lawn. Cold on the cemetery lay like the corpse, the flower in concealed corner of the lawn. Life rejuvenates it to exhibit its charisma. With its exquisite grace, life fills the daffodils blooming merrily in the meadows with the exotic flush of odor enchanting thee . Life of seven ages leaps and exits slyly like a stranger. Neither the witty nor the wisest nor do the philosophers can bamboozle the fate, neither can they preconceive the lot ,the fate has in store in each slot hence live the life with fullest enthusiasm and zeal, the chariots of life bridging the expedition between birth and rebirth. Struggle the chill like a gladiator stand undeterred by the worldly woes. Life is symbolization of bluebells,lavenders hedychiums planted on a deserted road, blend of happiness and agony . Surrendering to agony is pure escapism. Each has to surrender on the altar of death a day or later , but till life why not worship the life like an idol enshrined in the temple so when thee are asked of satisfaction in the heavens high thou may not quote "alas it could have been a day later" rather thou may be the most enlightened devotee to stay in the state of bliss and utmost salvation. Men say life is mortal But life is eternal you see, the life is like a divine cascade of holy waters, one drop dies ,other rejuvenates to life. Till the nature lives, shall live the men and generations yet to come. Life is pouring like the nectar from the heaven's brink, quite insane it would be to not drink the summary of life.                                                                                    BY CHANDAN SHARMA
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Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 12:09 PM UTC
Splendid Glory of Life
Glorifying amidst the snowy mountains bestowing rivers  with a splendid shine searching a land to shower its warmth in a dense grassland, sun rises with the dawn like  the spring blooming life in the lawn. Cold on the cemetery lay like the corpse, the flower in concealed corner of the lawn. Life rejuvenates it to exhibit its charisma. With its exquisite grace, life fills the daffodils blooming merrily in the meadows with the exotic flush of odor enchanting thee . Life of seven ages leaps and exits slyly like a stranger. Neither the witty nor the wisest nor do the philosophers can bamboozle the fate, neither can they preconceive the lot ,the fate has in store in each slot hence live the life with fullest enthusiasm and zeal, the chariots of life bridging the expedition between birth and rebirth. Struggle the chill like a gladiator stand undeterred by the worldly woes. Life is symbolization of bluebells,lavenders hedychiums planted on a deserted road, blend of happiness and agony . Surrendering to agony is pure escapism. Each has to surrender on the altar of death a day or later , but till life why not worship the life like an idol enshrined in the temple so when thee are asked of satisfaction in the heavens high thou may not quote "alas it could have been a day later" rather thou may be the most enlightened devotee to stay in the state of bliss and utmost salvation. Men say life is mortal But life is eternal you see, the life is like a divine cascade of holy waters, one drop dies ,other rejuvenates to life. Till the nature lives, shall live the men and generations yet to come. Life is pouring like the nectar from the heaven's brink, quite insane it would be to not drink the summary of life.                                                                                    BY CHANDAN SHARMA
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Generation gap, a beautiful distance Epitome of TLC , a sweet sweet sense. Grandpa’s stories about magical world I sit fascinated in his arms curled. On seeing me, his lips twitch a smile His loving aura, leaves me beguile. Albeit the gap, he understands me best His laps are my favorite place to rest. His eyes glitter up with joy, With me he’s always frank, never coy. Warmth from his hands makes me stronger, He is getting old, I wish he stays longer. How can any ever neglect them? He is such a find, my own lucky gem. When parents talk rude to him, My eyes pool tears that one can swim. They accuse him of not understanding, Has daddy forgotten his days with him on the swing? Grandpa gave up all for our good fortune, Today they tell them their thoughts don’t anymore tune? When I ask, momma calls it generation cap, I believe with bad, they should roles swap. This tired old soul soon won’t breathe anymore The thought kills me, in pain I roar. Grandpa is not a pain, you better understand If in your old age, you want me hand. Generation gap, a beautiful distance Epitome of TLC, a sweet sweet sense.
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
Bridging the Gap!
Staring your thoughts in my neuron canvas... where every cell signaling love.... Every memory pixel your ethereal face  . In the destiny , internal time and space. Where i heal u into my deepest breathe . Now the pain I consume, is enteral journey to infinite love .. It's now the distance that bridging gap every second... Everyday walk in the cloud  thoughts on way, See your shadow melt into mine and say - travel in light ,on my milky way . Drops welkin with tears oozing , in rain , Felt aura, her aurum soul regained . Craving , sbapnacari  come to reality , hover , don't airy , I  flourish  love, each micron heart ,u grown adult ,my garden fairy ... by MAHi - GALAXY
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Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
" Love on Neuron Canvas "
Words That fiery flash A stomach falls The electric charge of shared breath Lips just a brush away Yearning for unpermitted closure A symphony In frenetic bridging Tension Touch Taste Sweet release And the universe flips itself once more
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Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC
Words
Frail demeanor of library index cards packed with Dewey’s decimals stared upon so many times some of you stigmatized with graffiti “Read This” and “Don’t Read This” as if the vandal knows I wish to ****** each one of you good precise direction you give care in punctilious hand print of maimed athenaeum tenders all with long stretched noses bridging reading spectacles eyeing out naughty gigglers stigmatized themselves by rolled up quaffs with pushed in pencils or retractable ballpoint pens writing implements held so delicately while you were ascribed O index cards of my shielded youth how you protected me, informed me Guided me on treasure hunts where my imaginings still take me away, in isles of knowledge information coded in numbers and letters Yours is the power
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Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
Dewey Decimal System Of Sovereignty
i.                                                                                                                 iii.                                                                                  Daliythers expand, Afore man's image,                                              bridging Nova's.                                                                                  Twin flame heat;                                                                                  Extra-amourials,                                                                                  lantern's to be the There were writing's.                                          Star's. On the wall's; carved Afar, betwixt the jar's, Wherein tear's art Stored from children's Long. ii.                                                             iv. Exuberance aroused.                          Me and mine Jane Dark matter to ourn halo                   O' mine twin flame;                                                                  Me and mine Jane                                                                  From the heaven's whence                                                                  We came. Head's; bairns of the super- Natural, never born, never Dead.         ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
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Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
Afore man's image, a story of two bairn's
i.                                                                                                                 iii.                                                                                  Daliythers expand, Afore man's image,                                              bridging Nova's.                                                                                  Twin flame heat;                                                                                  Extra-amourials,                                                                                  lantern's to be the There were writing's.                                          Star's. On the wall's; carved Afar, betwixt the jar's, Wherein tear's art Stored from children's Long. ii.                                                             iv. Exuberance aroused.                          Me and mine Jane Dark matter to ourn halo                   O' mine twin flame;                                                                  Me and mine Jane                                                                  From the heaven's whence                                                                  We came. Head's; bairns of the super- Natural, never born, never Dead.         ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
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listening to the clacking rounds of traffic skipping beats...bridging storms overhead. watching her water below, break a tide. we're flowing together, she's never the same--as i am not. we both know when to leave each other be, and when not. a wind falls and spreads her many faces today--and i keep mine as straight as death. we keep at our reasons, till we spit them out. she's unsheathing a shimmering sword across the Manhatten/Bronx skyline... and she's telling me it's a **** good fight. i lower my head, and make intermittent eye contact with a respect that bears the brunt of being Mothered~ i spend more and more time at her feet... because she courses no return.
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Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
Whitestone Bridge
Today the earth below me provided energy the grass and trees around me provided energy the sky above me provided energy the sun beyond me provided energy Giving in unique ways asking nothing in return Red and Orange from the earth Yellow from the sun Green from the grass and trees Blue from the sky Chakras opened to receive spinning in glee absorbing these gifts I feel life, and alive I feel love, and loved Love in the balance Love in the beauty Love in the bounty I have waited for spring longing for just this flow conversion of perception shifting the Assemblage point From this new fulcrum comes further recognition we are here learning to create safe nurturing spaces for each other Our gifts to give are to respect to encourage to celebrate to support to cherish to shelter to create to listen to guide to adore to heal Living Loving Unconditionally Visualize this space Deep roots of a tree anchoring Strong trunk of a tree supporting Branches of a tree expanding creation Leaves of a tree celebrating life Allowing each other to be and express in safety and love we may create this as gifts for each other manifesting in our Power bridging Heavens and Earth
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Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
Nurturing Spectrum
In your eyes I see the reflection of love With all its beauty Mixed with the burning pain of One who can't be mine In your eyes I see a galaxy of possibilities Bridging the gap   Of a history yet to be written And a bittersweet memory In your eyes I see the light and heat Of compassion As you behold my torment To abate my breaking heart In your eyes I see myself in a different life And I wish I could stay locked in your gaze Forever ...... (C) Pixievic
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Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
Your Eyes ....
She couldn't express her grief but knew this tangible loss, felt affinity with old bones a bond with lost loved ones. She cleaved close to those, it being in her very nature a clan thing - family loyalty, bridging a long span of years. Her trunk trumpeted, mutely, while lowering a sister's tusk softly on the blanched shards of the ancestor herds, tendered in this final act of fellowship from one gentle giant to another.
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Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
At The Graveyard
Hearts are not constant, They each have many shades, Their colour depends not on themselves, But the light shining on them. In the light they radiate beauty, Each hue complimenting the other, But in shade they lose focus, And at night they are lost completely. But Hearts are not black, They only appear dark, Nor are they red, As even the most loving know hate. Instead they span a spectrum, Each unique, But made of the same, Primary emotions. Hearts are pastels, When touched they merge, Blending towards each other, Bridging the gap. Although they cannot always fuse completely, There will always be enough different colours, For hearts to find companionship, And trust, if not love.
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Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
Pastels [redraft]
I’m not sure But I feel like bridging the gap between you just to stand on the edge of it and jump off But jumping off of it is something I want and don’t want to do But you’re so different and I’m so tired And we’re both bored kids during lonely winter nights They call it ‘summer love’ But except for summer holidays and warm weather, there’s not much I enjoy about it It’s odd, but I've never been drawn to the cold weather until this year Even though the sweetest things have happened when snowflakes quietly blanket everything Hushing the world to stop and rest Weighing down the boughs of evergreens ever so slightly When houses smell of gingerbread and vanilla and the shadows of candlelight flickers on the wall It’s always been a romantic season, even if the weather outside is frightful But it reminds me of the boy with the camera in his hands, taking pictures of everything so it wouldn't feel like we were miles away And that boy with the camera is still just miles away And the photographs are just photographs, and those have stopped for about a year or more I’m trying to be patient, trying to calm this heart of mine Because it’s fickle, and although it enjoys the glitter of the Christmas season It shivers in the winter and will snuggle up to anyone except to me
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Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Winter