Poetry

Maybe the wolf is in love with the moon, and each month it cries
for a love it will never reach.

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Poetry

2.29.28-2.31.45

We shall meet when the setting sun
and rising moon appear together in the sky.
The sky will change colour,
and all will be bathed in an orange glow.
Winds of desire will blow
And thundering clouds will fill the skies.
Dry leaves will murmur
and untimely rains will wash the earth.
All that will remain will be
the fire of love in our hearts.
On that day
we will become one
for eternity.

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