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The heart may sing in spring
my friend
But the body weeps in winter
The yawn of dawn is drawn upon
the darkness of the evening fog
The land of sand slips through the hand
like water in a colander
For each ante meridiem
there's a not-so-merry P.M.
Pay no heed to wants or needs
for illusion is the magic
To repel this cast of spells
... tragic.