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all of life is a charade

all of life
is a charade
a fancy game
we only play
when the fields
needn’t be cared for
or the wind needn’t
find way through your lips
to mine; and how sweet
those times when we would
sit there, and find ourselves
waiting for the next great thing
just to go back to the old;
i love you,
i love you,
i do;
and you are sun’s
encompassed in
the ‘guise of
, falling,

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musings & scribbles