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Wilting forget-me-nots by the window

Droop their dying petals,

As they mourn lost hours, lost years,

in their empty tears of languid blue.

That lonely falling cadence

Marks the absence of you;

Each shrivelled speck a remembrance

Of our sutured separation.

But I am a gash-gold thread

of vermillion violet,

thrashing through the listlessness

Reaching towards Icarus’ distant sun

To begin, to bloom again.

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