She looks out faraway in the misty mountains,
A little home of selfless love,
A lonesome heart awaits warm hug of care,
Like a tired autumn await happy sunshine;
Suddenly, someone lends his hand,
She hesitates, unknown to such likeness..
Would it last forever?
As the weak pulse in silver-worn wrist;
Maybe once more time, life would play a joke,
Like under-paid clowns performing rude trick,
Now, clutching her tattered book of verses,
She lets out a forced quiet whiper,
vain and venerable.
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