Walking and gathering feelings
without aim in fate are fountains,
prospering in the frost whirlwinds
they which ascend on the dew
and take flight without remedy
to the mirrored waters' womb.

Existing in eternity, seeing
as fountains are reborn,
and in the endless elements
have been in cycles resting,
in the sun's virtue, all
flaming shadows are evaporating
embracing in recess, obedient
evolving crimsons on your cheeks.

Eternity exists in miniscule
journeys of October boughs,
leaving dreams when threading
in the infinite waters' depths
of new rebirths in due seasons.

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