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By BlueberryValentine, Kirkland, WA

The wind whispers discreetly, mindful of those slumbering within,
murmuring a slight sonata, a lilting lullaby, through the cave.
Barely a sound can be heard apart from the faint fluttering
of a set of infant nostrils, yet to pant their first puff of smoke,
yet to savor their fair share of succulent evening air.

A grander being stirs, splendor skipping down its slinky spine
to the opulence shimmering leisurely across the floor.
A curling cloud is exhaled, lovingly, tenderly, towards the crown
of the resting angel, whose scales have not lost their luster
and whose pearly nubs of teeth have yet to be colored carnivorous.

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