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Whisper Soft my love with a moon to move my secular soul... a moon to still the screaming banshees,waging battle for control of a gypsy, once free, now stumbling headlong toward the day where branches will no longer stain the light between thee and me. A longing,a curse...for memory is a hunger. And all that I hold dear has been swept away...leaving only a crumb for my ravenous gypsy soul.
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All rights reserved. Last revised: September 30, 2020 |