Ah, Moon

Ah, Moon, forget me now; darkness lingers in flame, bound like the rope; are these lilies the white paths? Pluck out the silence, ance the dryness by the dusk the youth blooms spare. In a place long left, here are shadows that shake us, a hush, a rope hold, on willow fancy covered, brightly flaked, all around; are they the strings, that keep us) here, that bind us?

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