Crimson clouds behind the walls,
Roosting near a crow caws.
Here she weaves her brocade;
The river girl seemed to fade.
Made of gray yarn like the rain
In the lonely room insane.
Crimson clouds behind the walls,
Roosting near a crow caws.
Here she weaves her brocade;
The river girl seemed to fade.
Made of gray yarn like the rain
In the lonely room insane.
Brilliant work brother
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Thank you!
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