The four seasons completed the cycle, And the one, Who was waiting for the mailbox, Optically woven with the fiber, Functioning- precisely with the universal limit, Finally received it, Immersed in venom. Three full moons rose, Plus a new waxing crescent, On the sky above, Casting the shadow on the time Wasted- till then, And put ambush on the illusion, To end- once and for all. Yes! The past bears both diamonds and rust. Outside, some wise men were preaching, On the importance of time, The one clapped, sang and danced with them.