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The two sisters have snow on their
feet and then they are tree sisters,
who have heads covered with
fur, their little brother, a baby,
an adult, a king, a saviour, the last
priest in all the world with flames
coming out of his cry. The former
king runs into the night, past
the tree line, past the snow fall,
and then they are two sisters,
until no one can remember their names
and then they are their brother,
the last king who ever

“fallen is the future,
the noise on sturdy pine,
broken is the centure
the spies of haughty nighs.”