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The Dreams Of The Old Boats

The Dreams Of The Old Boats

Running by the shiny shipway
Which flows thoughtlessly
Down the marine mirror
Of a ionic waterline

There was a fresh breeze
Strange peace
And there was the Sun

It was even able to warm me up
No longer an enemy
The sight passed by, as pictures running
Playing tag to a sweet roundabout

Then the mighty of a boat
The art in its misery
Its baroque shams
Its gone inlays

The arcane ornaments
Its lone gaze
Its ancient memories
Its wars lost

As Venice has never been
As the moon won't ever be