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The midnight moon had spoke me a song
In a melody that made my hair grow long
She said, “The fiery trees, and softest rain
Will gently arrive once more again.”
With news of such hope, I ran to the sea
but the waters were shielded away from me
Ice as their blanket, and their earth as ground
Kept me afar from being sea-bound.
A gusting yawn swept up the orange streets;
A bitter wind whose grudge lasts 12 weeks.
But in my heart, eternity is felt on winter’s clock;
To strive through life without sight of hope’s flock.
Ah—the chilling breaths I cannot withstand,
of a sky that exposes a voice so bland.
When will the flowers finally seek the sun?
Where is the ultimate mother and her newborn son?
Sleeping is the blizzard who isolates
and brings upon me lonelier fates.
Enter a blank core of earth, I must forsake
in the annual occurrence of Winter’s Wake