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With his tail he swept the sand-floor.
There he lay in all his armor;Seeing my fair charmer
Curl hair spire on spire,
All in paper armor,Bloodless victories, and the farmer
Bore, as trophies and oblations,
Vines for banners, ploughs for armor.With his tail he swept the sand-floor.
There he lay in all his armor;my ribs--my armor
shoulder blades like glass wings curved for warland owned, previous farmer
lock tight rooftops body armor