But Not.

Hanging in the mob-rule,

No-pause-for-breath, air

The ancient magic,

Mixed with the new,

Is still clearly there.

Old conjurer may be gone –

No option, sometimes,

But to move on –

They say someone

Else has his keys,

Is picking chord locks,

Putting messages into rocks:

The love goes on;

The song the same,

But not.

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