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Fallen amiss,
squalid leaves twist,
through the vortex,
of winter's breath.
Toward hallowed ground,
where martyrs lie,
in graves unsound.
Atop a barren knoll,
among withered stones,
forbidden whispers,
of truth untold.
Rapt in scorn,
sorrow and woe,
for the unborn,
hopes of tomorrow.
Falling upon soiled streams,
of promise and pilgrim dreams.
drifting onto reality's seams,
where silver fires gleam.
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