A walk among the stones

.

One step after the other

Each one slightly heavier,

Against the harsh cold weather

No more warmth to carry her,

But dawn is slowly rising

And with his voice still ringing

To ear, gently chastising

In her mind almost singing

A tune long-lost to silence,

They were two and yet of one,

She was his shield, he, her lance,

Her ugly duckling, his swan,

Lost to this world, however

To meet anew, oh, never ?

.

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