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Image from D'Orleans
Young men riding in the street
In the bright new season
Spur without reason,
Causing their steeds to leap.
And at the pace they keep
Their horses' armoured feet
Strike sparks from the cobbled street
In the bright new season.
Papyrus
Spring. . .
Too long. . .
Gongula. . .
"Ione, Dead the Long Year"
Empty are the ways,
Empty are the ways of this land
And the flowers
Bend over with heavy heads.
They bend in vain.
Empty are the ways of this land
Where Ione
Walked once, and now does not walk
But seems like a person just gone.
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