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thoughts of light
lead to a loss of sight
blinded by the wants
of a future out of reach

yearning witch,
outstretched hands
for the sands
of a time
where she sings with the chime
of the bells
and not farewells

until then comes
she cries tears of green absinthe,
head adorned with a crown of violet hyacinth
and hopes her tears don't turn her numb
to the passage of time
when the bell tower sings its chime
Have a good Sunday
Hope you had a good day
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