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￭ Epistle of a millennial
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So sadly is to think that soon,
Maybe tomorrow the alley tree,
Where you see them, they still will be
While us in grave will be decaying.
So sunny days, Oh God, so sunny,
Will come behind while we are not,
The all four seasons will cycle funny
With rain, snow, and flowers opened up.
And grass is still again to sprout,
And moon of course again will rise
To mirror in the water, although
We sure doní't have a second chance.
And strangely seems to me that,
We have time to hate others,
When life as a small drop behaves
Between this second and another.
And sadly seems to me to see
That we doní't look toward the heaven,
That we don'ít smile and gather flowers
While soon we'íll die and itís forever!
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