Six and ten slow and sleek around that bend. Seven and nine spill a tid bit of sugar through the funnel of hope and time. Visions of elephants all a white haunt you through the darkest nights. Tales of grim toss you into a fright. Whispering elms omens of tales yet of which have not been spun. Birds and bees nature's path that paves the way. Snatched up by the scruff just another mother grooming her pup. String eddies mixing the sea like a cauldron of stew that the farmers brew. A cricket for luck just a hunch there a muck of them bunched in a crunch. Shadows of lighting hover above like a diving eagle spirting a coho from a brook. The horses in the locomotive kick and grin as tons of iron shreeks with chagrin. Seven and zero race to be a hero. Eight and one tie it all together to keep it from coming undone.
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