Mystical Milk Bowl
Amist a solid black canvas.
Guiding mislead souls to purity.
A full bowl of milk,
Mysticality in the making.
Strange wind blows,
The monsoon of new season arrives.
Rainfall blurs the eye of the beholder,
For it is a new day.
A full bowl of milk at midnight, you see,
Transitioning over the course of time.
A glass of orange juice today,
For the faces are gone, as is,
The man on the moon.
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