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sister poem

i've won the race
this is the arsenal
the snow whispers about me
my soul is a dark ploughed field
shades of night were falling fast
for truth, for love
the meadow was creeping
their beautiful hair
days endeared to every muse
if i should die, think only this of me
the little white prayers
simply speaking
a mist was driving down
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars

 



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