A Mourning Chirp

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Where doth one search
On what plane?
To rise and make a plain man insane
Without love, without passion
I am fit for no slight ration
Yet I feast, I feast on sorrow
And search for a new light on the morrow
A sun may rise and warm my heart
Till then with the cold night I shall part
Goodbye my dear friend, For now,
I leave to rest and then awake to a different sound.





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