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Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine.

And no one called us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
Something stirs and something tries
Starts to climb toward the light.


Sunday, July 13, 2008

Story Bone

When does rapier whit become old-man grumpiness?

It's the other "coming of age" story.

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