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Welcome to the BlackthornScribe Project. |
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"An Scaipthe" Her branches stripped bare She grieves hidden by a pervasive, perpetual darkness And so with a son’s promise to his mother They leave promising someday that they will return to her And then they are gone, forever gone And so she waits. Silently. Broken. Alone. |
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© 2003 Blackthorn Scribe