The time has come to start its end,
a time of infinite ages.
Destruction is strewn,
breaking boundaries.
And the power of fear,
blinding each person,
the survival is crucial,
until the end is done.
With seven colors,
shaped into a half arc,
a little boy,
comes out to play.
The earth is damp,
its opponent still strong,
but the making unfolds.
Battered flowers,
Sharp end twigs,
a puddle of water,
a splash of play.
A life pulsing,
goes unnoticed,
but for the crawlers,
nestled in a pot of gold.
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