Hic Locus Est Patriae
T Tom Billsborough
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The sky, too low for you, was torn.
The trees invaded your blood's space.
And so, Cassandra, other armies came
And nothing could survive their hot embrace.
A vase adorned the porch and he at ease
Returned and leaning on its marble, grinned.
So day went down upon the place called Trees.
Where once the day of speech, is now the night of Wind...
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