Glimmering orbs, so frail, so clear,
Drift in the glow of fate’s frontier.
Born on breezes, wild or kind,
Their paths entwine, then slip behind.
Each sphere a tale, both carved and held,
Of hearts made whole, or softly felled.
Through love’s warm hold or anger’s blaze,
They etch their arcs in unseen ways.
Some meet in whispers, soft and brief,
Others crack loud...
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