It is more spectacular

than the simple, happy

"Sing! Sing! Sing!"s of the birds that came

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking.

You've always called it dark,

Dismissed it as the ungraceful sobbing of the woeful,

Told me you wished I'd write something you could show off to your friends,

But if it was eight pages of "Sing! Sing! Sing!"s

You would see it pointless then too.

Art is in the past tense,

And while you call it dark,

I call it


The End

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