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Silent tears weave a trail of sorrow
Throughout the open sky
The souls of the dead dart through the flowers
Playfully frolicking as if they were still living, breathing creatures
Ignoring the fact that they have been forgotten
Only a grave marks their existence
But still, no one will ever know
The lovely laughter that whistles through the trees
Now silenced, contained within itself
Souls that resonate with their own vivid life
Yet they are cold with the plague of death

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