AS A SILKWORM WEAVING & DYING AWAY AMID ITS PERFORMANCE

TO ONE LENT TO REALITY





 

Suffice it not a bit (oh, our noble
deficiency) that the mirror
reflecting your certainty
be the same as you
 
Suffice it not just a bit
  
In a silent humbleness
acts your heart. Treasury full of wonders
of which they have found only love
Around it reason, master of the senses
summons always a chase
 
Do you still hear those voices?
 
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