Will there be a voice
Crawling, behind all the echoes?
Will there be one warm finger
In the bunch of cold hands?
Will there be a green leaf
On the weary and naked tree?
Will there be a battle
Of fears against hope,
Behind every mother's prayer?
Will there be answers
In plain sight down the road?
Will there be masks
That are better than the souls?
Will there be a rainbow
With seven distinct colours
And no hesitation?
There will be all; all of this;
If you water your thoughts
In the bright sun,
And keep a story, that begins
After the final full-stop.
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