Cold and darkly slips the creek,
to sleek the stones that love the ground,
as through the piny branches sound
the secret whisperings of the wind.
The moon swims in the water's shine.
The sky says nothing many times,
but dances just behind the pines,
and never laughs, but only grins.
One lonely heartbeat whimpers by,
at war with love, on wounded wings,
and deaf to simply quiet things
like loving stones and smiling wind.
Obviously insane little birds fly by,
and cry, "But why? But why?"
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