The unrefined

 There is always something to cry about

For every meaningful verse
beneath the boats that roam with us
Through the earths
Is but a small venture
A drop of water on the mountain tops
That makes a big blot on our papers
Is as sincere as this riddle
Left on the moon
Why must the cold be as
Inviting as the crackle of firewood
It is as if my heart is changing
Why must I rest from enjoyment
Why must I long for peace.



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