Summer In Winter

Who told you?
Who said it should’ve been so?

The looming liar lurking?
A voice from the mount’?

Would that there’d been!
Oh that there’d be!

What harm would befall to let it all go?
And exclaim to the the everlasting, omnipresent silence:

There’s ink to the contrary;
Screaming loud and clear. 

So my skin -if none else- must tell the truth, dear. 
My hand, the fall, forced. 

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