The Serpent's Skin
Novemthree
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The wind's auspices weaving through the trees
Their trembling branches slowly giving leaves
Their hue descending tumbling through
Warm darkness
But we're holding on desperately
Black flames, black flames
Licking our heels as we flee
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Oh could there have been?
Could there have been any other way
To escape the shedding
The changing of the serpent's skin?