Over hushed quadrants
forever landlocked in snow,
time’s senseless winds blow ...
leaving odd relics of lives half-revealed,
if still mostly concealed ...
such are the things we are unable to know
that once intrigued us so.
Come then, let us quickly repent
of whatever truths we’d once determined to learn
but lost in these drifts at each unexpected turn.
There’s nothing left of us here; it’s time to go.
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