Watchful, as a hawk above a golden field,
I see myself in your arms.
It is a dream I cannot shake,
A thought that once could have passed;
But now has settled,
For the long stay.
Frost-- the world has ended in ice today:
Yes, and your bitter cold is silent.
Frozen words are sharp stalactites,
Unseen, they still pierce the heart.
Yet, I ask: who ever arrived
that did not depart?
Let us be on our way, and
gone.
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