The evening sky holds its azure face long enough
For even passersby in a hurry to stop
And throw a glance before night turns it into
The dark shade meant for the melancholic
Behind the tree the moon is more sensed than seen,
Not many still look out for it when it arrives
Leisurely like a beloved who knows one is worth
Waiting for and will not be stood up
The little one in the next balcony is learning
His first words and trying to name wonders
No more wonders for us like the bird or the tree.
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