Faces of violas crowded
In a square red urn
They do not rave or burn
Stiff and trembling
In the morning breeze
Has purple ever felt so cheerful
Yellow ever glowed so simple
Until this carmine came along
Shades that culminate in song
As soon as you close your eyes
And think such thoughts
Unravelled by the sun
When death is done
When spring has come
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