Intrigued
as I am
I am not
one to insist
on infinity
Not in the
secret susurrations
of summer breezes
Nor in the sweet
benefaction of
the night sky
And certainly not
in the capricious
whims of
invidious winter
No, if anything
these are things
that, instead
entice me
with the tender mercy
of the temporary
When it is ephemeral
or cursory
or adumbrate
Then, and only then
does it have
value or appeal
Let it all
fade away
and I
will be
the constant
I will light
this world
with my song
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