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IvoryPhoenix

  • River-side Trees

    None do ever seeThe tears of a willow treeWho hides her painBehind her maineOf vines, submissively. They say young willows often growWhere musical notes of rivers flowAnd such assumptionsProvoke presu

    • Poetry
    • Dramatic
    1 min read


I do not use my siblings as the cleaning equipment.
— Atticus