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 Grandeur Of Melancholy      13725 Poems Read



Ghost Trails

Something ectoplasm by the pool,
dripping down find the horse you rode.

And by the moor, shining by seashores.
That off to another sunset of riding this one out.

Somehow became; haunted by their voices
that got so lost,
ringing in the halls of decorating chimes 

that it follows; the horse I ride.




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