Congeal not
Thy basic ingredients
Making stolid
The sloth;
Devoid of mentality, mass and motion
The dentures, the little-little stars, fixing
Every toothless skies
Dark and grey,
Stretching its bound;
With twinkle and smile
The boundless bound
Blazing the space, fluttering
Thy golden wings
Venturing the unknown
To sheath thy soul
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