With hardly any fuss or bother
Always straightening its fringe
The lake spreads out
Fresh carpets of morning light
For its amazing guests
The winged and the wingless
Who can enter freely now
The great vestibule of the abyss
Paved with amethyst and ruby
As one by one their names are called
Way out the fishing trawlers
Have already caught the darkness in their nets
But fail to see the derelict on the shore
Content to be left behind
But always wanting more
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