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The pulse of a wing on the wind,
The print of a foot on the sand,
A Sun-borne wink on a frosted morn,
A halo-ringed moon, pure and full,
First kiss of the day
Last word of the night.
The breath of the newborn awoken,
The memories of age newly shared,
A waterfall cascade shimmering stone,
A desert thrown mirage horizon blurs,
Soft-whispered sounds
Looks that speak love.
The caress of the wave on the shore,
The towering ice-hearted peaks,
A beast in the full flight of chase,
A life-spewing forest of green,
Eyes that say nothing
But mean all the world.
And if none of these things are written,
Do they simply just cease to exist?