In this sweet,
so tender youth,
this right to be,
has wound itself,
within you.
this trance,
so mild, timid,
afraid and nieve,
afraid to look,
beyond the shadows.
A whim of delight,
solitude, blanketed,
by the silver cloud,
of that veil of mortality,
encompassing the vast,
the unnatainable.
a shadow,
a myth,
a hope,
a love,
a dream.
in all,
yours to mold.
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