The tongues of men are quick to rise,
With words like arrows loosed at night;
Yet none will pause to scan the skies,
To seek the stars that lend them light.
They weave their judgments, thread by thread,
A tapestry of fleeting thought,
But truths unspoken lie half-dead,
While lies take wings and fly unsought.
How cruel the careless hand can be,
To carve...
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