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Breanne Johnson Apr 2012
Twice she came and twice she went,
Each time with less a grasp of reality.

Arms spread wide,
Head thrown back,
Her dress whirrled silver as she spun.

Fast, like a clock.
Turning back years in minutes.
A spindle unwraveling threads of silk.

When she stopped she never stumbled,
Only swayed.
The wandered away,
In wistful delirium.

— The End —