Myriad million sparks lie in front &
On busy stilted sheets, subcelestially slumped,
Slugging serene by no mean.
Still slumber they are, while seekin‘
From one to another attraction.
They could be leafs of age for sure:
On random trees, amid themselves.
Leafs ace their destiny by being
With nothing and nothingness dying
In pace of phase, to possess all faces.
Have been ignorant forever, me
Now behold leafs loped along the sheet.
Are they longing or barely loitering?
Affirmed not,
Ineffable me have the same deed.
Simply or precisely said is con veneer
Or bon countenance above so-called average
Protean facets. Yet,
Hovering surroundings seem shading us all.
Seeded patina attached.
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