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Fallen Angel Series - Not a dove. Lawn mower casualty list in that summer's game of war, hidden pictures in the wood grain, photo's in my fathers book, losing my pet pigeon and finding my first dead friend, white with a red gap on a bed of leaves. Later, living on the birch grove, coincidences; the white rose and a song, heart beats, looking further than skin deep, a dead bird on the doorstep every time. Question what's inside and mark an eagle's passing, work makes you free and there's a scary silhouette on the south bank, the watch that outlived uncle Ern, a buckle with no belt in a box in the loft. Heart beats, heart beaten, strip back the layers, afraid of what's inside.
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