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The pumpkin rises from the dead. Silent gasps; words go unsaid. Creeping through the pool of darnkess The enemy fleeing west. They are always so short on love and time They never take a moment to pay it mind. As life progresses they shatter and mend, Oblivious to all, until the end. The cycle goes on, a cycle of change, Yet through it all they stay derange. It's always there, an open eye, To it they're merely gone in a sigh. hold your breath...
Harvest
