La Sangsue, Chérie de Dieu
Pages catch and fly to their verdant ends At my stake burn thirteen fishers of men Rails oblivious rumble far below All the trees are sleeping in the snow Slowly so as not to drop the book I take my leave without another look The leech cries 'Give!'; it asks, and death it finds Enemy so eternal, out of time
Rhyming
Dream work
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