some were in the night go’s bump. then your up for hour’s, the quit tones that come at night, seam to hold you captive, as the gentle winds blow the window seal, whispering a noise, perhaps a song from long ago, or a fairy sprit that makes no séance with a harp of gold with silver strings maden over a flower. the night go’s on as the tea gets hot. and you just want to sleep. so you craw in bed and cover your head. tell the sun light makes a pattern.
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Good night dr zen…!!!
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