To frame the beauty
of dark nights,
an open vistas of an open window
and
stroke gently
the child of my cheerful dreams
Such, juvenile crime
I always do;
And
always
I find myself,
caged behind
the iron window bars,
occasionally to be laughed at, by
a raven, that
slide a shadow pass
outside my pillow view
flapping wings of bat
ever silent ever fearful
To accuse myself
for any crime;
Let that be a boon,
to shovel beauty of my dreams:
My juvenile crime!
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