The whisper of the long verdant grasses
Once claimed to the Kingdom that the orthodoxy came not with a roar but a whimper, solidarity foregone, ego long-standing like iron-rich water from ancient bloodshed. Through the ploughed fields sent shivers askance the serpent, like shady cathedrals built on an edifice of scales, primed the true course of the whispering grasses, long abated and trounced in that stance.
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