Colleen

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sloped downhill away from the church. Most of the old stones were tilted; it seemed like some playful earthquake had tipped them at different angles. Others lay crumbling and broken on the ground, all of them forgotten, no one left to mourn, no one left to care. All of them covered in lichen and moss, the etchings yellow with age. Some said the place was creepy but I found it peaceful.
The Irish Nanny
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