Here comes the days
The danderous day of divinity
When all makes naught hays
To make positive ways of ability

The lust of time
Sings dirge to the prime
And so, the sun
To the striving son…

Found of jest
Lost of ire
Like death of pest
In home of sire

Vividly, the memory dances
Seen to be banished
With little less of lovely chances
And herculean to be vanished

Adhedhayor

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