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Like spring breeze

through the chimes

all is well,

when nothing rhymes.

And all is well

when rhyming ends

for He who knows,

knows pretend.

A song of chimes

and I remain

long is time,

and know it's pain.

Beauty in it's random hymn

the Sun and the rain

are without sin,

names of change

remain the same

the breeze that fades

and comes again.