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The Wistful Fool

Her offers so loving she seemed a myth:
Roses, for him to recall her cheek’s bloom,
A sweet melody, for him to dance with,
And at last, the sun, to brighten his gloom.
He waved the flowers away at first sight,
His feet sadly stood stone still to the song,
He shielded his eyes at Apollo’s light,
Her eternal love would not be for long.
But at last, as he smelled the wilting rose,
The wistful fool knew her love found its mark
Marveled at the grace of fading tempos
And commenced his finale in the dark.
At last, eyes opening to the sunset,
He embraced its dimming warmth with regret.

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