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We must not be sad to part ways,
Under an ancient moon
Where the glistening waterways move,
And the owl and the nighthawk listen.
With trees that reach out with their branches,
Caressed by a tender breeze,
As softly the amber gloom seizes
The forest that dreams of the moon.
Many oceans are dreamed up by lovers,
Many heavens too soon lost to time;
This ancient love lives on in rhyme, now
And I have many hours yet to give.
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