A Pang of Reminiscence
High and smaller goes the moon, she is small and very far from me,
Wistful and candid, watching me wistfully from her distance, and I see
Trembling blue in her pallor a tear that surely I have seen before,
A tear which I had hoped that even hell held not again in store.
Wistful and candid, watching me wistfully from her distance, and I see
Trembling blue in her pallor a tear that surely I have seen before,
A tear which I had hoped that even hell held not again in store.
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