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to the living

a star in every corner of the webbed symphony

aligning as the music floats from somewhere

beneath a tree, as each note takes to winged

feet fanning the dying flame, takes to running

just to be back againe, just to see, the reflection

in your eyes of something beautiful, and feel

once more the heat, and not turn to face away

from the dead

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never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it


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