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The Merman’s rhyme

He has no love but music and cold whispering trees that were in bloom under the last dim moon. He has seen the unseizable moors that glitter and dance in the wandering waves. He has crossed his Rubicon The enchantress’

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Posted in Iron Tales, 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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