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AFLAME
Tonight, the horizon burns like metal
Molted and shot from a mouth of fire
The trees stand scorched, coal-chalked pictures
In the sky hangs a fleeting smile
Molted and shot, from a mouth of fire
Twisted from wire, but tender, yet to be shaped
In the sky hangs a fleeting smile
The work of an artist, holding beauty in crude hands
Twisted from wire, but tender, yet to be shaped –
The trees stand, scorched coal-chalked pictures
The work of an artist holding beauty, in crude hands
tonight. The horizon burns like metal.
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