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Solitary Symphonies

Through the quiet of the night walked the three men;
Three they were, and a hundred patient trees, who
Watched them try to pour fresh colours
Into the quiescent melancholy within the greens.
Melodic phrases they hummed with strange avidity;
Songs which they sang were full of life;
But the night was already quiet, cold and dead.
The lonesome grass reeds embraced their music
Like the cheek of a mother welcomes her tears,
And somehow thanked the three strange men
In a voice soaked in painful inaudibility.
The men were aloof from the deceptions
The world out there offers aplenty, with a smile;
And so were those trees, who watched the world
Burn to ashes, and the creations of the Almighty
Soil their souls and the souls of others,
Reducing to dust too heavy for the Earth to carry.
But that night was the night they had longed for
For that night, the men who had remembered the trees
Were men who sang songs, gifting soporific euphonies;
Men who had flutes in their hands, and not axes.

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