peaks of foam that soon will still,
little better hopeful will.
slightly dandered twists of salt,
stupor beyond finding fault
with hence a score of two plus more,
lands a day upon this floor.
with no rook or knight to keenly glean,
future past is not yet seen.
over lights and crannies cracked,
through tall windows
dreams are tracked.
wonders waiting, with insights long,
drowning sound in silent song.
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