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Once upon a moonlit night,
A dreamer slept alone.
With silver wings, these dreams took flight.
The dreamer turned to stone.
To cast away your love, forlorn.
To wish that you were never born.
To run, to trip, to fall, to cry,
To wince in pain, and smile, and die-
But never turn to stone.
The moss has grown.
The wind has blown.
Death has claimed her tyrant throne.
Bathed in Autumn's sweet cologne,
Her heart was then soon carved to bone,
Until her empty soul was shone.
The muffled cries which past, still drone.
Emotions: Too disloyal, disown.
All she was told, all she had known,
Was how to hold her lonesome own.
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