Whenever I read your words,
the contemporary nature of
the world is revised.
You didn't wrote about
"the stunted, unlucky heir
of twisted bones".
Yet, I envision a "solitary reaper"
singing on her own;
reciting the romantic nature of
this forever same world, that had
ceased to exist for so long now.
Even though, that flattering
clipping of yours' is so vague;
I somehow, find the nature of
your contents, as though;
those are words of mine.
-Emanuel
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