Not tears that flow,
the fire is what glows.
Failing miserably to see,
to come as the wind blows.
Nature has a bastard son
locked and never be free.
As leaves are unraked
burning the depths, the Sun
sets the alarm, of the clock,
to simply motionless say:
"She is a queen, that was her queen",
and I destoyed Nature by raping her son.
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