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Where The Crows Meet
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I found a shiny thing where the crows meet. With bare feet I walked for hours. Grazing upon meadows and floating through trails. And the shiny thing was familiar to me, a shadowed memory of which I could not speak of. It embodied innocence, and childlike play. Singing through whispers in the winds everyday. Tiny gatherers, hoarding lost treasures and things that were left behind and forgotten, yet