the wing that flapped
the ring that fell
the scorn that crawled dreading its thorns,
the rift that moved a mountain'shield
the reef that ploughed its own terrain
for billions fairs await to flown,
rises the moon
the sphere of sym,
flashing its beams across the rim
reaching afar's the gilded star,
the skies are highs amidst the spas
of blue and green and sheer aurene,
a spot of rain is dripped serene
a rhus has bloomed,
the silken truce.



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