Little Do We Know

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Under the harvest moon,
Beneath the darkest night,
The breeze tells a story,
The star that shines the farthest
It shines day and night
For all whom who need it
What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?

But every morning when he dies,
He weeps all alone,
Never did he see her from all that far,
Weeping all along.
Little did he know she died with him every day.

In his light, she learnt to see,
In his flame, she learnt to rise,
In his hearth, she found comfort,
In his shine, she found solace,
Little did she know that he rose every night for her.

The breeze sings the story for all to hear
Little do they hear each other.

A/n :- I know I've taken two lines from famous poetry. The credit goes to the respective writers. This is a sort of dedication to the beautiful metaphorical poetry they write

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