Wasn't It Enough You Took My Husband, Will You Take My Son's Mandrakes Too
 

In a moment of emptiness she contemplated a burly wind. Not something others could imagine but it was still there, the concept is ethereal like worshiping a god, a figment, fancy, fabrication another grave mark around the corner, below the words. Yet there is pleasure in a stand still, open hearts, lacerated heads, above the image is superfluous and grand, sweet nectar, the smiles of children dancing in the rain.

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