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GhazalBy Joshua Gage
The elves pay up quick when they lose by moonlight,
East of the Sun, West of the Moon
The mother craved greens, so her husband set out
The guitarist slipped out to the crossroads at dark
They found the weaver alone by her loom,
The priest awoke to the kiss of his lover
The angels swept down through the stained glass
The Prophet must pilgrimage to win back his muse,
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