Mirth in her eyes in the morning. Her eyes are etched and glittering by the door white-hot from fresh sunlight. Breathe easily, say what you mean. The years are dry leaves now. Summer dust touches the chamber. She found a coin engraved with sheaves of wheat. The oldest shadows hide under the newest. Dark cherries are the design on her personal correspondence, and now she must write a letter. All of her letters are self-portraits, but she has a passion to break through to her reader. She is otherwise imprisoned. Corresponding with a musician, she can be sonorous.

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