Ancient white blankets lie dormant,
Steeped in the rhythmic brine.
Criers chase the laughing wind.
Angels fall from the glinting monolith,
Crashing in the placid deep.
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From @jmt
Ancient white blankets lie dormant,
Steeped in the rhythmic brine.
Criers chase the laughing wind.
Angels fall from the glinting monolith,
Crashing in the placid deep.