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Goblins
August 6, 2013
In caves of old,
In deaths untold,
We harvest a crop,
of silver and gold.
With all our might,
we wish to fight.
To reek havoc and fright,
in the dead of the night.
We string our bows,
We gather in droves.
The time is right,
the sun sinks low.
The darkness falls,
the forest calls.
We leave our halls,
and death befalls.
© Audrey G., Phoenix, AZ
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