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Poem

Blindly

Little eyes, lost inside a tale,
Watched by a soul behind the veil...
It watches, for it has no choice,
Even when no one understands its voice.

The only truth that does exist
Is life itself, however sad it is.
Sad as autumn, bleak and cold,
Or as a life too quickly told.

May the gentle sun arise,
Even in a bitter life.
For bitter it is, to be sure,
To be missing from the story that is yours.