Mr Mascellani's Musings

Yew tree dead in forest.
There's a groan moon in blah sky.
To city, people go.
Alone, him, at home.

He, the widower, mulls over metaphysical concepts,
ponders over questions of fatalism,
thinks about the ramifications of dualism,
considers epistemological conundrums and quandaries.

His home he leaves.
In sky, sun shines
People come back home.
In forest, yew trees grow.


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