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Zin
Withering auras of Zin surround
The tears of a crying heart
Trickling down through ancient vines
Spilled into pools of sacred red wine
Where pain freely flows
Until the brooding heart glows
Embraced in time, sharp edges refined
Drifting to sheer delight
Zin pours from sepulchers divine
Sanctioned in muted candle’s light
Promises the spirit to ignite
Reflected in his sparkling eyes
Copyright ©
Karen Anglesey
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