Chess
Published on Tue, 25th Aug 2026 at 01:00
And said I that my heart is cold,
and said I that my voice is old,
as earnest fires all but die;
this path is bare in recreant proof.
And said I that my soul is dead,
and said I that my mind is dread,
as hawthorns pierce the final beats;
this garden is replete with
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