Arrayed along the lightest spine
hollow rigid blunt-tip spline
the finest rills the softest scars
arrayed to form the bands and bars
one edge softer one edge sharp
the double edged sword the difference harp
arrayed in perfect racks and rows
evolved from a strategy no one knows
plain before you no metaphor
simple key to dimension’s third door
contemplate a feather realize a quill
written in a snowy morning tranquil
What is the song of the day?
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