From Tobiah's deluded Muse:
she walked in the garden and
stepped on every neglected stone and
wished for things...
things did not come.
every day in the garden
the morning dew held the sun-
facets, glints and bits of mirror,
in which she placed hope,
in which the sun existed
for her,
for she never looked up,
where the source passed...
she never saw the sun,
but only the sun's story
in the garden.
was it only a story?
or is the garden also the sun?
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