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01-04-2010, 03:17 PM
Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, at the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, walled round with rocks as an inland island, the ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
The apple was red, crisp, and tart
Like a flavorful work of fine art
He sliced it in half
With a sinister laugh
My strength is as the strength of eight --
My heart is nearly pure.
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