From embers' breath, on the weathered stone, I write,
A firstborn whisper, birthing meaning's light.
A symphony I hum, a nascent tongue,
Language, a seed, from fertile silence sprung.
In sun-drenched squares, where minds in combat meet,
I clash with Logic, ideas at our feet.
Confucius whispers wisdom, on the wind I sigh,
A weaver true, shaping destinies that lie.
Across the plains,...
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