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The Hawthorn Wreath

The Hawthorn Wreath

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Mother, offer me your disguise. The wicked deep has many limbs, and many disks from which it sees. Teeth for a crown, as you dry and bend, retain my thought. Open the eye behind my own. Distance the seeping pull. Feed me your hymns, and guide me through the old halls.

Edition
6 / 6
June 2026
#1
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