If It Wasn't So Pure
You are candle flame inside a room
Unbothered by wind nor disturbed of air,
Flickering not as if going out--
As fluttering of dewy eyes--
To flaunt your delicate virtue.
Yet I as a moth, still am mesmerized
By your quietude, so charmed
By your indifferent gravity.
I would call it wiles
If it wasn't so pure.
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