Not even the frogs were awake at dawn
the morning when the birds began to leave
and the trees were quiet. The bugs deserve
the frogs, the dawn deserves day, on and on
the songs are coming through me as if drawn
through an instrument. Not even wild love
and a calendar that has more than twelve
months, a chess game with too many pawns
and powerful knights. I love you today
and tomorrow, the birds don't know the date
but they still sing. Not even in the prayer
may we remain, in thoughts that decorate
a senseless poetry. Yet, I will stay
at the task until we're no longer separate.
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