Folly
Faint moon splashes salvage their destiny
quiet the half-sphere o'er which they preside
"Too late," sigh the stones in their lone epiphany
"silence, the one sound worth trying to hide."
So dies the wind mut'ring childrens' verses
knowing the whitecoats care little of these
Listening to galaxies' fluctuating choruses
I know they forget their world's wondrous keys.
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