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01-09-2010, 12:48 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.
My foot slipped; I fell on the ice
So did my tongue - it wasn't nice
The bitten-off end
My strength is as the strength of eight --
My heart is nearly pure.
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