Fraud thorns of roses

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And, oh boy, was he in my forest:

unspoiled by mankind;

hiding so artless in a silhouette of an aged tree


he was but full of sweet clues to seek --

endlessly battling for twisted plots


he sheltered me from a well-spoken

whisper of crying souls in the night,

of a harmless bite of confusion

residing with the devils

wildly approaching the hands of Eva.




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