For hours the candle pulled in light. And from where we stood it shimmered like gold. A poem to you is not a poem for you. I write small revolutions, but the paper and the pen soften my fingers.
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For hours the candle pulled in light. And from where we stood it shimmered like gold. A poem to you is not a poem for you. I write small revolutions, but the paper and the pen soften my fingers.