My mother , the queen of my heart,
Reings in my sky like a moon,
Pulling the tides of my senses,
Lighthing the paths of my dreams.
All melodies hence will play subtly,
Againts this first , dominant theme,
That will turn their most delicate graces,
Into harmonies they'll never hear.
Nor can I visit the garden,
Where once I lay wrapped in her arms,
The doors of the past will not open,
Though I live 'neath a dome of pure joy.
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