Abigail

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Abigail waits upon the morning,
Blessed to make it through another night.
Interred within the bones of her desire,
Granted still the grace of inner fire,
Are shattered remnants of the first pure light,
Intense as at the pith of nature's burning,
Livid in the ashes of her yearning.

Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.



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