You told me not to talk of beauty

Faceless bones
was my land.
Dark waves
only faintly blue.
And all the magpies
had all but vanished.
How quite the first
rays of spring.
But I followed spring
through the cold nights.
Spent my days moon-viewing
and dreaming of that
precious mountain path.
So, wake my sweet pea
and let us talk of beauty.
As we gulp down
the mountains, the oceans
and the moonlit skies.

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