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· ᚢᚦᚼᚱᚼᛒᚼᛒᛊᛒᚼ ·
ABOUT
WORD HOARD
END.
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FIRED SOILS CRACK AS ANCIENT STONEWARE.
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I SIT BENEATH THE SHADIEST TREE.
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SOME ROUTINE SUNDAY MORNING.
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A LAND COVERED IN DARKNESS.
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