Candles
don’t burn forever
Neither
does Sun define its fate
The
burning of a tree
Is
not the death of the whole forest
The
mourning of relationship is past
I
bury myself alive
To
find my own roots
I
am not the victim of seasons
The
freshness of the spring
Is
neither your craft
Nor
mine
The
pages of my memory
Burn
Every
night
To
keep my winters warm
Let’s
sit and talk
One
to one
When
this madness ends
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