
Fearfully close on a tree
As cold as death I see
White eye of a moon bleakly
Re-awakening the pain
Of life in his face again
Sallow-hued like a bad dream.
Presenting a wretched gape
Over the forest landscape
Hollow, despised, no escape.
I feel it in all my veins
His woe to the sky’s margins
And that his old wound remains
Even though the grave’s fingers
Can stitch flesh back together
Memory is forever.
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