Raeka Hillock Biography

A man by the seashore at the end of the day,
Sits like a statue as the gale grazing his face.
Twilight is the albatross that swiftly fly away.
Silently lies the archaic ship without a name.
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An old lady once told me an incantation,
Which could drive my green age to preservation.
Why, said I, do your smirks wrinkle,
And your orbs no more twinkle,
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From the the cerulean skyline
The herd of clouds dispersed.
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