Brush a stencil on a seat,
Carve the bark; lend an ear.
The quiet grass
And silence bears
A tepid stream of river, here.
On the wood, pencil-worn,
All the words and lovers lorn
Sing sweet graffiti:
Hearts and tears.
Their etchings held, tender dear.
A blanket black and warmly brief,
Calls the night, which, softly speaks:
Childish wishes,
Longing dreams.
From nothing, something comes to be.
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