Seeing a soul of firefly
sold its body to purchase light
for the vast ocean-
yet still, darkness rewrites.
Packing a bouquet of leaves,
the rouge was discarded, obsolete
from the gaze of lovers-
yet still, it bloomed in peace.
Joining a circle of laughter,
the bard anticipated the muse-
his mind occupied by the typer,
and glib tongue, excused.
He flew the firefly,
and picked up the rose,
and mandated his typer
to click clumsy notes.
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