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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 21:44:11 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 3996
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => First Sighht
[time] => 2002-09-18 20:28:53
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => A crowd of eights, motionless, grey
Like rolling waves in November. No white horse to catch the eye No memory to remember. Suddenly a flash appears Eyes caught by the glimmer Between the eights a nine or ten Amongst the grey, a shimmer. This time the sun will shine Waves will crash and horses tumble She is the one She will make me humble [comments] => 1 [counter] => 181 [topic] => 24 [informant] => stuart_wilson [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LoveRemembered )
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