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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?