Beneath a sky just brushed with gold,
?Scott met a voice he used to hold—
?Christina's laugh, a spark, a flame,
?That time had dimmed but not untamed.
They talked as if the years had fled,
?In verses spun from things unsaid.
?Each word a thread, each smile a sign,?
Two poets tracing back a line.
The coffee cooled, the hours flew,?
Yet every...
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