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They ride the good dragon-cloud towards warm light While wistful wind was a wrongdoer on the hollow hill Wrapped woven from the wounds and wrath`s night, The wood will wear white woolly witness of the windmill. Hoarfrost hitch-hikes and hoists with hoarse hood, Drumming beat of hobble of the army`s fatal feet, Far away from the glow-worms of their childhood; Friends fumble the glassware where they might meet. Falteringly frogs of fancy jump towards the lake’s glass; Orphan souls sit on the steps of hope in winter`s time They scrutinize the frozen sky of hope to find the rhyme Of the verse from the other side they want to happily pass.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

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