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Nov. 8th, 2006 @ 03:54 pm Tain
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hope on a string
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Date:November 8th, 2006 09:50 pm (UTC)
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widow: o the wind is blowing, it hurts your skin
as you climb up hillside, forest and fen.

your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wine
your memories wrapped within paper and twine.

the room that you lie in is dusty and hard
sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.

And that's me.