“You are giver,” the Owl whispered, louder than cleft-toungues could hiss. “You are artist, you are poet, and …” and she pushed. That sleepless night she pushed and pushed. “The statues of Louvre, they will out kiss you. The arches of Rome, they will out stand you. The cross on Calvary, it will out love you, but on the bones of snakes and takers, your child, your voice, will continue…you are mother.”

“You are giver,” the Owl whispered, louder than cleft-toungues could hiss. “You are artist, you are poet, and …” and she pushed. That sleepless night she pushed and pushed. “The statues of Louvre, they will out kiss you. The arches of Rome, they will out stand you. The cross on Calvary, it will out love you, but on the bones of snakes and takers, your child, your voice, will continue…you are mother.”

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