CAISSONS GO ROLLING
This dark tree likes the fog, its
fir-branches never letting things
go. The fog in turn clings, like a
baby clutching its only blanket.
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This thick fog likes the fir, its
cloak never letting the branches
go. The tree in turn clings, like a
baby clutching its only blanket.
-
This thick fog likes the fir, its
cloak never letting the branches
go. The tree in turn clings, like a
baby clutching its only blanket.
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