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                                                     ELF 
               
                Wilst I think, 
                And sit and dream within the forest, 
                  soft footfall comes up behind me, 
                   as I think. 
                A soft cool hand touches my shoulder 
                  and whispers like the wind enter my ear. 
                Her perfume preceeds her words,  
                  her intentions reflected , 
                    in the calming mist. 
                Like dust, sleep overcomes me, 
                  as soft secrets fill my thoughts, 
                   the hand releases its elfin grip, 
                     
                And I drift into sleep... 
                       Marcus
            Baker Street Irregular * Ft Walton Beach FL (1:366/222) 


                                                                                           1859


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