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To Anastasia
Her name invokes memories of a soft wintry fold
When golden flames danced away the bitter cold
Crackling hypnotic and sparkling bold
Fairies that fly among Seraphs of old
remind me of tales my mother once told
Of purity untouched, unspoiled, unsold
Yet this dream proved too slippery to hold
and is better left at dawn's early threshold
I like your stuff. Quite
I like your stuff. Quite fanciful yet devoid of pretension. Keep em comin