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Life is indeed too brief and long is Grief. My euphoric Words have seemed few. Yet Powder all that I’ve ever said and sprinkle it to linger as infinite echoes over the mountains. For though There were only those vague golden summers, and though the Demons of memory now lash at me like ill winds, Let the kernel of my truest convictions forever prevail and be moved from place to place by the beaks of swallows spreading still the possibilities of love…

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