In Ouachita's tales, where pine needles sigh.
I trace the mountains' ancient, weathered crown.
Silvered river forgotten secrets float by
And fills my heart, a sonorous chamber now.
A flame ignites, dispelling shadows deep,
A beacon for lost souls on twilight's rim.
Forgotten songs within my spirit leap,
A lullaby for weary hearts, I hymn.
Florence,
Our palimpsest where
sun-kissed tones reside.
Her heart...
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