Within the ghostly fog the gate is waiting patiently for me, who is grief-stricken that you might not await beyond the copse in love's decree~ a gossamer whisper of a promise that cruel fate has whisked away. In godforsaken solace I am left with this cold grave of dirt, wherein my fair Adonis sleeps in unrelenting night, and no amount of mortal groaning will release him back to light.
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