I wait. 'Tis the golden hour-- that special time ere dusk has come and leaves of green with sun's last rays reflect from nature love's great power. Along the winding path I hear his footfall as his steps draw near, see his shadow through sparkling haze. His ice blue eyes with crowning brow survey... Sign in to see full entry.
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What do you know that doesn't really matter to anyone and isn't worth a hill of beans? But, it's fun.
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