Her abditory where she tells them she will hide,

Where like a bird she has her own sky, wide,

Stand as she is there watching as high mourns the tide.

In her home when she was in solitary,

So much quietness that she could hear every beam of sound.

Sounds that made her grow low about her howl.

Searching she is now for a fool for her,

That would do the same things as she does.

The spy with her pen, paper and book leaves her town.

With no trails of dropping emotions but only

They are in her mind only the intentions.

Still she is abused for her heart that is made of stone,

But she and the fool know that it is flower-made.

The fool companion only knows the spy’s tacenda,

Run as they away from melancholy of life to attain their agendas.


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