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A Letter For The Dying Girl
Whe sunset comes,
It wasn't you descending;
Though nothing leashes you in life,
Please trust that you are here;
Your journals may be burned to ashes
and your thoughts remain unclear,
But for someone who has heard your words,
Your silent voice have reached;
So leave like the dandelion seed
And be carried by the wind;
However far you travel,
You'll end up as a wish;
Please wear a crown of pink carnation
when you walk on your way;
That you shall be remembered
with longing and tingling-ache;
Please trust that your faint fragments
are kept in crystal glass;
They brighten up a dark world
of this one cowardly fool;
The howling wolf's cry echoes
as if praying to the moon,
To let you know when that day comes
To send you, there I stood.
© nabinara
It wasn't you descending;
Though nothing leashes you in life,
Please trust that you are here;
Your journals may be burned to ashes
and your thoughts remain unclear,
But for someone who has heard your words,
Your silent voice have reached;
So leave like the dandelion seed
And be carried by the wind;
However far you travel,
You'll end up as a wish;
Please wear a crown of pink carnation
when you walk on your way;
That you shall be remembered
with longing and tingling-ache;
Please trust that your faint fragments
are kept in crystal glass;
They brighten up a dark world
of this one cowardly fool;
The howling wolf's cry echoes
as if praying to the moon,
To let you know when that day comes
To send you, there I stood.
© nabinara
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