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Literature Text
the colours stride as morning peaks
in golden plight it reignites
and bathes the world in solemn light
ebon tusks of morning dew
pierce the viewer's eye, so slowly
they dwindle before the rising warmth
a rustling goes there, whisp'ring tales
of ancestry unsung;
it goes they have taken place
right beneath these cherry trees
there, like countless blades of grass I bow
my head before your grace, my dear
in a sea of nature's beauty
I only twitch so much as once
and twice and thrice you slice my chest
with a blade as thin as grass; your face
untroubled, still, unchanged, and watching
as I scatter, and mix
with the morning dew
so many tales remain unsung
will mine be heard, or be sung only
by the rustling, wishp'ring wind?
that I question as I fall
into a bed of blades of grass
in golden plight it reignites
and bathes the world in solemn light
ebon tusks of morning dew
pierce the viewer's eye, so slowly
they dwindle before the rising warmth
a rustling goes there, whisp'ring tales
of ancestry unsung;
it goes they have taken place
right beneath these cherry trees
there, like countless blades of grass I bow
my head before your grace, my dear
in a sea of nature's beauty
I only twitch so much as once
and twice and thrice you slice my chest
with a blade as thin as grass; your face
untroubled, still, unchanged, and watching
as I scatter, and mix
with the morning dew
so many tales remain unsung
will mine be heard, or be sung only
by the rustling, wishp'ring wind?
that I question as I fall
into a bed of blades of grass
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