Though in ash I may be covered,
I bear a light underneath this cover,
This unconventional cloak that in everyone's eyes has me figured.
Though the leaf holds on to the branch,
It eventually falls to the ground,
Though it is life to end may seem,
It can only look to the future,
Reborn in the shoot it natures.
The moon rises across the star-filled sky,
Not in the glorious cloak of the sun,
But in its simple coat of grey.
My pen has bled so listen to my heartwriting
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