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“Here on the walkway lie distant dreams of orange in October, with its outer mystery and inner disfigurement. A shrill cry from a little one pierces the blackness, as the moon is shrouded in a solemn veil. “In our bags place a treat. In our hearts some bittersweet.” And I, “Take what you will of these melting dreams; sweet but for a moment.” As the little soldiers walk away, I turn and go to my inner room. Locking the door, I close my eyes...” — Craig Froman
Here on the walkway lie distant dreams of orange in October, with its outer mystery and inner disfigurement. A shrill cry from a little one pierces the blackness, as the moon is shrouded in a solemn veil.
“In our bags place a treat. In our hearts some bittersweet.”
And I, “Take what you will of these melting dreams; sweet but for a moment.”
As the little soldiers walk away, I turn and go to my inner room. Locking the door, I close my eyes...