And dark craters hide,
behind the lushes of blue.
Blue confident enough,
still hides in leaves.
The rustles are cool,
but are enclosed in warmth.
Warmth, although broken,
radiates love.
And the love is hidden,
in the true era of beauty.
Can't we see, still exists.
It never bother,
but always behind those swart:
you find it,
the most faded out,
but constant with era.
The White.
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