An ocean bending
To the will of the moon,
So I come to you.

This fair winter,
Can not last;
Whatever seeking needs be done I will do.

A century
I will walk, until I lay
Hand upon you again.

Sweltering memory,
Will you not die?
I know I reach for nothing, save a shade,

But this heart will not be tended to.
I am a hunger being made.

Through time and

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