As time defeats its half-life,
the already opaque shades darker,
a shadowed tree on gray and snowy land,
bordered in the depths of a mirror made of mercury,
ornate golden edges crumbling against
a disappeared realm of peeling wall-roses,
in a room where seconds dissolve like hours,
and the years seem hollow and unfathomable,
all dust and ash and corroded tarnish,
without human whispers to support them.
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