The years
Pass by slowly
Like clouds in summer skies
As day merges into darkness 

To the wild song
That echoes forever
Through the corridors of the world

Our life
Is like the snows
Of whitest December
That death warmly thaws into spring 
In time.


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Beryl Zephyr

An occasional writer but a regular thinker, Beryl sometimes fiddles in speculative fiction. He sees both humour and tragedy in everyday events and is extremely concerned with the fate of other creatures trapped in the monstrous march of 21st-century human civilization.

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