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the little grove of weather-warped hairs leans awry full flowering in its meadow of itch. Chaos descends, as chaos will, Without warning. Clawing. Raking. Ravishing. Why! Why! Why! Why?! What did we do to excite this cataclysmic malevolence?! Written December 15th, 2001 © on Dec 15 2001 01:52 AM PST, Carole Dudley 0 • 7
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"the little grove of..."