Incubate in their own towns
Saints don't travel much
At least by transportation
The young man ran
A trench coat fluttering behind him
Its tatters resemble the etchings of wings
Cover the child and beg together
He knew the streets by porch light
And only knew
To cover the child and beg together
Even to the moment of his burial
Wings blackened from his time on earth
Cover the child and beg together
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