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Let Her Fall

Just maybe when you fall.  This time.

There will be beds of cloud-like linens.

A sea of infinite warm goodness.

Maybe this time.  When you fall.  Softness awaits.

And the cross you bear will be of Balsam Popular.

And sticky sweet molasses.

Instead of Ironwood and nails.

Maybe.  This time.

 

Photography by Clarke Sanders