Fly, little boat
MATILDA
On a wintry day,
At a lightless bay,
A boat floats on an ice-still sea.
The waters part,
The stars a chart,
Directions in a world of melancholy.
As one looks on,
It starts to dawn,
The boat's sunk into invisibility.
You think it'll rise,
Fly into the skies,
For a second, abandoning rationality.
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