old peoms, unwriten one: mayfly

mayflies fly around fire

hot and dire, but still beautiful

knowing the life short and dull

so the life short and last unsunk

the hope was only re-sprung.

 

i’m the mayfly

knowing fire is too hot to pile

handle cause burnt and cry

so why my hands still try

the reason? i still don’t know why

so keep try asking it here and wrote this lullaby

if any passing by

can carry my words and carry my mind

to the source of my cry

let she does all the reply

and all of that will be the full of my satisfy.

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