It sings a mocking dirge
A melody untuned
Which rocks upon the earth
Unsettling every dune
And while the tides unfurl
A froth of hope and gloom
A precious little girl
Stands silent in my room.
So much was shared between
The wires of a song
But everything seems nothing
Since you won't play along.
Perhaps I should have not
had that facetious thought.
"But he that dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose." - Ann Bronte
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