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A Rare Truth

Bloom could the cherries no more,
The haste that burdened,
Made visionary the sight,
Restrictions frequent but pure,
Had not known,
The cold bare winter tree,
That stood all day long,
To which history had shared the secret.

Once it happened so,
A bird wingless sought shelter too,
For the black ghosty witch had entered,
And into the button staid eyes,
The irony lay, the heart shivered,
Till the fear traveled and made cold the bones,
The weighty burden was carried,
Until downloading lightened the shoulders,
The sky shone making the air sweet,
And the lips smiled with the curves of joy,
All was seen a rare truth of dependent history.

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