Out of the blues
he came off the cradel,
catapulted to a phase of growing beards.
The earth is garbled for oozing sweats
and the air awaits mirthless sighs.
No more candies and heaven manna,
no more tales and lullaby,
excavating the nights to sleep.
No more screeching wheels
rolling smiles in mucky muds.
No more dance in the wildest rain
with play pants dangling in love.
No more moulding hobbies and play-fight
the fingers are clawed.
The sun is left idle;
no stars to accompany it season.
His age took a nuptial flight
to survive by self-sudor
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