The sun had set at the Lake of Sunsets. The Wanderer gazed out from his window and saw people were hurrying to have their dinners. He sat and pulled out a piece of parchment. He reached for a quill, dipped it in the blackest ink he could find and he wrote:
Look at love, you may dream
If it should leave, then give it wings
But if such a love is meant to be,
Hope is home and the heart is free
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