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The Seal

Begirt by the colors, the ripeness had laved,
The lilac-bent shadows were sprawled on the coast,
My preaching for butterflies deeply engraved
In the statues' thoughts, imaginary for the most.

And who will listen to these revelations
Besides sultry orphans of the insect host?
That's why my life's coins are already tost
With no longing for a common salvation.

(There may no longer be any ties to rend.)

Some whorls murrey-tinted upon grassy bindings;
As soon as the frail healer's bell rings,
I'll bury myself mid the haymows so fallow.
The seeds of new ease fall down from the gallows.

(There may no longer be any ties to rend.)
(There may no longer be any ties to rend.)


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