The lights they emit,
The waves they pass,
The way they shine,
The pride they have,
Is in every dust.
Beauty they posses,
Magic they behold,
High they stand,
Picture they hold,
Which decors the sky,
The fate they hold,
The love they resemble,
Broken to ground,
To make a wish,
Fancies as star dust.
-Alex O' Connor
All Rights Reserved
Poem no.7
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