Sabrina
Light, solstice.
The poems of windmills turning.
Sedated sails,
Whispering through a frosted sun.
Or sunrise,
On midnight braids. Exalting,
Yawning wings.
Dancing in a dew drenched dawn.
Or music. Or rivers.
Or fields of sunflowers chorus.
Forests deep,
With pine and scented paths.
All in vain.
The hopeless yearn of parity.
Of all the stellar
There is no reflection of you.
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