The broken bird has lost a wing
to the heartless fierce wind
A last whimper from its heart
Drops dead to the wintry earth
Leaves fall in the season’s wake
Their lifeless bodies in the rustle shake
The dark of death gets what it takes
And hopes are but futile flakes
How can one make fate recall
when with cruelty it drapes its shawl?
Will the star-crossed wanderer find relief
in that his own journey will be brief?
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