To every soul that breathes there is a dream,
And as the silence of the dark descends,
The voiceless whispers floating in a stream,
Avail us now to follow folly’s bends.
Yet, wisdom clasps a corner of the earth,
To sweep away the callous of the dirt,
No fear would dare to foul her sacred hearth,
For freedom flings away the devil’s hurt.
But, still the creek of life wanes swift and steep,
The splash of wavelets dwindling as she comes,
We ponder on our questions and our sums.
And thus, we miss the echo of her leap,
What is shall be and what was done is past,
For neither moonlit dreams nor nightmares last.
Our human reveries are strings of lace,
Like whimsy lutes amidst the drummer’s beat,
Yet in the mirror, she lives out her days,
A mirage of the summer’s drying heat.
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