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"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Christiana Weisel


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Why do I linger; give me a reason—
Everything's passing me by in a season.

Smoke wisps up from the remains of homes,
everything burns without hope in this season.

Behind the crimson trees, sunlight is waning,
bidding me golden farewell for a season.

Rows of granite stones jutting through snow,
marking what's buried for more than a season.

In my hand, the lilies nod their heads gracefully,
a gentle innocence that disappears in a season.

And who like a wise owl is searching for reason,
with life flying by as swallows flee the season?