Disguarded and disheveled by she who wouldn't see, the love she craved so deeply, she had within of me. Born from the mists of time, an angels bond from above, but nature never seems to put, a magpie with a dove. In a forest dense, where clouds are born to be, one stands tall and stronger, a twisted blossom tree. In a life without reason, on a sea with no shore, adrift and without purpose, what good is an oar. The daylight seems jaded, in crowds but alone, my future has faded, for she felt like home. For what good is comfort, with noone to share, my dreams for our future, if only you'd dared.
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