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Crude autumn afternoon

In autumns we follow the light… We find it shuffling her feet on leaves early yellow in despairs for winters. It hurries onto Your face As golden as midsummer roses Absorbing all the beauties that were… Press a little bit

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Posted in Blog de companie, Invisible stories, My poems, Wordsmith

“Language is not like the sun,
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.” -Iulia Halatz

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