the charade swoons ever on,
moulted remnants of dulled pain,
lie scattered across the blank page,
as slowly approaching dawn,
offers a glimpse,
a fleeting mirage,
of a fragrant new morn …
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the charade swoons ever on,
moulted remnants of dulled pain,
lie scattered across the blank page,
as slowly approaching dawn,
offers a glimpse,
a fleeting mirage,
of a fragrant new morn …
The Manic Scribbler