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“They fall silently the steps of her arrival - crossing snow so pale even the morning sky would fall into nights amber (if it knew of her ways & worth); for she has entered the palace of gold - her hair braided with hope tainted with autumn leaves that seem like a hanged man's rope - for her name is war and her crown is crafted out of grief.” — Laura Chouette
They fall silently
the steps of her arrival -
crossing snow so pale
even the morning sky would fall
into nights amber
(if it knew of her ways & worth);
for she has entered the palace of gold
- her hair braided with hope
tainted with autumn leaves
that seem like a hanged man's rope -
for her name is war and
her crown is crafted out of grief.