On a hallway painted white, on the edge of the world I know,
came a thought to rest on my shoulders, like a shadow or a ghost.
Something demands an answer, but maybe there is no question here,
on the threshold of losing everything or somewhere in between.
And how right were you when you said it comes with the falling snow,
arrives and refuses to go, into unknown.
And something in me moves restlessly, breaks against my frame
and turns out to be, a voice of compassion not knowing whereof it speaks
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