…And the pale moon lit her blushful face,
As she walked there across the piers
With her head held high. Beneath her grace
The wooden docks absorbed her tears.

The night was a canvas of a dream,
Yet lacking artist’s subtle hand,
As a splashing sorrow, the river’s stream
Flowed down the veins of no man’s land.

Forsaken land was hers to thrive,
And the moon just witnessed this above:
Her graceful walk, her oath to strive,
All by herself. With her long lost love.



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