O past days, fallen leaves,
The foggy haze of memories,
Relics buried on the beach,
The far horizon— out of reach.
Keep the treasures that you find,
And leave the empty shells behind—
From wasted days naught can be gained,
Let all regrets be flushed and drained!
Living, dying, draped in drama,
Trying to escape the trauma,
Shaped by time, for after all
You’re nothing but a windup doll.
Nostalgic algae on a pond,
Surfacing somewhere beyond—
O past days, the withered hands,
Reaching back at barren lands…
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