Tanner Brockwell

the night air lowers cold, the rising damp a chill. there is water near, there are fine lights too. the night lowers as a commotion. spinning in a toply manner. water, water, water.
span this path by narrows bridge your steps so sure will lead you back. the night, the water, the lowered airs. were ever you closer to despair. yet save those who won’t save themselves, like the will-o’-the-wisp would vanish. and dreams and words and murmurs oft. would be gone.

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