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A Spring bird in November (Edit) (Other) by Sasha

Sliding on hard and icy skies                    A bird of springtime plies                  The air whose cold forebodes              A winter with its building breeze.        The bird in elegant unease Heads southward, slow as feet on unclear roads.                                                                                     All warmth to it's a distant myth.        No friend to shiver with,        No guide but weary eyes,    It's making one last-ditch attempt    Before December's cold contempt Kills this procrastinator of the skies.

horus8 10-Nov-04/4:03 PM
A fistfull of fuck.




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