January 28, 2015
Gathered under the crescent moon,
Waiting for her to come back soon,
A withering look scratching traces.
Flickering candles light their faces.
Music keeps the jungle humming,
Broken tides keep on coming
Cries a woman under the hood
Time never cared or understood.
The stories are woven from molten gold,
As fortunes made and dream are sold
Yet the magic lies sparsely strewn
Find the path or fade away soon.
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