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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Rainy Saturday Working

Was planning on writing, staring at the screen until my brain cells either screamed in death-throws or cranked out some wordage. But I ended up doing freelance work after checking email. While it was for only a little money (I'm a sucker for start-ups and females owned businesses, it's my weakness), it was probably for more than what I would make for the daily word count. Hopefully tomorrow (or later tonight) will see some word output.

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