Waltzing with Flora
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TEARS OF NIGHT
T‘was the sound of tears
falling on the leaves of a rose bush
which brought me out in the early hours of the day.
Night recalcitrant to vanish, wanting, for a day, to be Queen of Noon.
She wrapped herself into the limbs of trees
and hid under the thick skirts of shrubs.
But Day would not give consent to the absurd.
Before melting into a river of light
Night lodged itself into my mind,
just long enough, to deposit a veil of melancholia.
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