The lonely wands are magicking a religion,
Their force survived as if the martyrs existed;
Their thoughts existed, their acts existed
And we exist in this union of laughter and marriage.
Swear to the love of the world in thoughts,
Never be near the soil of fought people,
Who see orchards in full honest blood.
I see killed men and women in the orchards
Of the skill they wear to adorn the treasures;
I see everywhere the queries of elders who display
That living library of thoughts that connects to light.
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