Words do flow as a brimming river,
But cometh a stream,
Through his scorched realm,
A realm of monotony?
Or a dungeon down deep?
Can’t contemplate in such a state,
Of dreary pains and hollow despair.
The leaves of autumn and withering flowers,
The sands of desert,
And birds at dark,
His wall does block all heavenly breath,
The dance of nature,
Is now at rest,
As the universe stops for infinite time !
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