Still falls the rain, the veils of darkness shroud the blackened trees,
     which contorted by some unseen violence, shed their tired leaves, and
     bend their boughs towards a grey earth of severed bird wings. among
     the grasses, poppies bleed before a gesticulating death, and young
     rabbits, born dead in traps, stand motionless, as though guarding the
     silence that surrounds and threatens to engulf all those that would
     listen. Mute birds, tired of repeating yesterdays terrors, huddle together
     in the recesses of dark corners, heads turnedfrom the dead, black swan
     that floats upturned in a small pool in the hollow. there emerges from
     this pool a faint sensual mist, that traces its way upwards to caress the
     chipped feet of the headless martyr's statue, whose only achievement
     was to die to soon, and who couldn't wait to lose. the cataract of
     darkness form fully, the long black night begins, yet still, by the lake a
     young girl waits, unseeing she believes herself unseen, she smiles,
     faintly at the distant tolling bell, and the still falling rain.

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