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The washing basin, quiet, subdued, tucked quite away and rarely viewed, sparkling white, the china gleams, of busy days, she often dreams...when dusty fingers, dry with travel, chose to rid their skin of gravel. Cool the faucet dripped and gushed, washing out the grime and dust and splashing dark upon some skirt or jellied blobs of moistened dirt... But just for now, she stands erect, so quietly, should you inspect and marvel at her gown of green, her copper oxy coated sheen,