Is there such beauty as beautiful as love?
Nonetheless wonderingly bright,
So purely innocent, like feathers a dove,
A force stronger than the darkest of nights.
Pluck the strings gently in thy hart
Long before thy washed with musk
Strum the word’s, a meaningful art
Tick of clocks, bitter tastes of dust.
Stormful waves, can’t love come home?
The villagers mutter and say;
“It won’t be heard, those waiful woe’s
It’s best to keep such love at bay”
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