I sometimes think the Pussy-Willows grey. Are Angel Kittens who have lost their way, And every Bulrush on the river bank. A Cat-Tail from some lovely Cat astray.
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The night is always old. He'd walked too often down dark streets in the secret hours and felt the night stretching away, and known in his blood that while days and kings and empires come and g, the night is always the same age, always aeons deep. Terrors unfolded in the velvet shadows and while the nature of the talons may change, the nature of the beast does not.
Terry Prachett