What use be words if ears for them will never be?

In the death of night, when darkness engulfs the most watchful blind,

There sat a boy by the tree, reading a book all so lonely,

He looked pale with a certain death shooting in his eyes,

His eyes fixed on those words, reading behind those shaded lines

 

Of secret places he has always been very intrigued,

Never knew what he could find in words, locked for him to see,

So silently he gazed upon someone else’s memories,

Realizing little by little, what he saw none has ever seen

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