I am the whispers,
An echo of a voice,
Punctual and faint,
Created by choice.

Spoken under moonlight,
Heard only by one,
I dwell on every note,
Important like the sun.

Secrets and stories and memories I hold
So close and dear,
Begging to be told.

What better to tell
Than a tale about life?
Cloaked only by a whisper,
The night,
And a scythe.

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