The warmth afore ere feel, summer fails, leaves lie brown are dampened now, tis’ with faint heart thy welcome in, nor by choice let winter sin, calm seas swirl, waves roll and prance, redemptions here to steal away the stags last dance, a heinous horror doth plenty kill err’ multitude of souls therest lie ill, thou’ sorrows thorn till festive eve, a child sleeps a baby born, while those that lost, forever mourn.
Sunday, 12 September 2021
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The future of History
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