�����Of the thousand docile moons I have witnessed
�The mildest breeze that I have felt
�As I have weighed the heaviness of lightness
�And its worthlessness I may assess
�Just as soon my summer turns into winter
�Before which leaves of autumn were torn asunder
�The souls of the ruthless are perpetually blown into the depths of emptiness,
� now weary they have grown
�The setting sun blushes crimson
� as it abandons the region
�Sighs of regret and sorrow
�The low arch of your brow
�Tells of the uncertainty of tomorrow
�Of the many words you have said
�And all the instances this heart of mine bled
�From your lips I must hear a confession
� of substantial logic and reason
�I am but a millionth of a whole
� whose existence has been oppressed by the rule
�But among all those you have promised eternal love,
� besides from the stars above,
� to whom did you offer it least?
�Searching the corners of the North, the South, the West, and the East
�Glances that were stolen
�Consolations to the crestfallen
�
�
������
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