A gift from a hundred miles
lies on the shore
the birds whistle past,
and the waves hit the shores
and my gift lies ignored.
The pine trees by the coast shake,
too afraid to cross this infinite lake.
The clouds refuse to carry the weight -
The house is too far, is their take.
A letter alone, shall the postman carry
with a million songs or with just a story,
And so this letter, is the lone to be explored.
An it I hope, is my sincerity implored.
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