Silver paths aglow in the night,
Hallow the journey lit by moonlight,
Loose is the wind; heavy and drunk,
In the abyss of dark, all has sunk.
In the midst of commotion,
She glides like a notion
That creeps quiet into a pensive mind,
And moves out before one can a reason find.
Her words ring like wind chimes,
Her voice, the sound of sweet rhymes,
Often at night, she breaks into a dance,
Imperfect rhythm but lyrical romance.
With time, she grows restless,
Her heart and mind listless,
She awaits a known cold breeze,
To let once her suffering cease.
…
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