found along an ancient map where we sailed in an old, wooden boat bobbing among the ways brushing against imagined sea monsters where they roared and children stared into the black expanse guided by the Northern Lights
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A cloud is born From river’s edge As rain begins to fly The sun leaks out From building gaps As clouds and clear-sky mix I seek a bridge A makeshift roof To hide and keep me dry But then I see A mother mad— Her …
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