Strands of silver glistening faintly,
Nourishing nectar in pools of gray
And lightly falling o'er the soft warmth
Of settling leaves and morning dew.

The seeker's silent march,
The dreams of warmth and day
The fears of heat and light;
The hope sought in despair,
Now fleeing from the end,
Unwilling to turn back.

Weariness pausing the seeker's chase,
Hiding in the mists from loneliness,
Lying just beyond the pools of gray,
Longing glances piercing fearful shrouds.

The dream yet tries to be free,
But clouded eyes cannot see.

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