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As seasons come and seasons go,
though days turn from weeks, years and more,
that burnt sun rises and that burnt sun sets,
and even as the blue seas swell at times towards the heavens and kiss the sky,
it would all mean nothing,
all the beauty striped and taken,
all these seasons visit for nothing,
if man hadn’t the voice, eyes, and touch to validate,
the beauty that always was and shall ever be.