Finally, I accept the blatant naught, the “never”
That still you shout, that I write, that I ponder,
And at last, does it make sense, ever?
It makes sense, this senselessness yonder.
Tetrameter Three
By
By
Finally, I accept the blatant naught, the “never”
That still you shout, that I write, that I ponder,
And at last, does it make sense, ever?
It makes sense, this senselessness yonder.
mvrcodelrio.com 
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