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sad poetry

there is no flock, however watched and tended
but alas, just dreams
i have heard that a certain princess
who is the runner in the skies
with lips blood red and heart of stone
from our hidden places
with the sunset
let a joy keep you
the air is like a butterfly
these be
when a deed is done for freedom
if the red slayer think he slays
above them all, looking down

 



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