The years and the raven
She was seventeen womanly years old,
he was seventeen boyish years old,
and they sat under the willow tree.
At their feet,
death was asking them to forgive its existence
and moonlight was kneeling.
Happiness
was running through their fingers
and by the corners of their mouths.
Then,
she was thirty-seven womanly years old,
he was seventeen manly years old,
and they sat on a bench.
A raven watched them from the willow, under the moon.
She was seventeen womanly years old,
he was seventeen boyish years old,
and they sat under the willow tree.
At their feet,
death was asking them to forgive its existence
and moonlight was kneeling.
Happiness
was running through their fingers
and by the corners of their mouths.
Then,
she was thirty-seven womanly years old,
he was seventeen manly years old,
and they sat on a bench.
A raven watched them from the willow, under the moon.
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