Sad songs were strung for his lonely night light
Glorious trees reached out on either side of the path
framing loneliness of words in a silver-light wrath
And I saw myself in the road that goes nowhere
I saw in you the moon's near-random wayfare
Those trees that rise like dreams of you and I
Sweet lines that echo of an end that draws nigh;
And so the story goes, that moon dies at twilight;
roads move on but silver-lined songs hold on tight
To stories of love, lust, life and pages lost to sight
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