Demanding empty answers from the air
My voice re-echoes fondly - foolishly -
Against no solid object I can see
But equally resounds from everywhere.
I hear the copy of my own despair,
Feeling the lack of possibility
That presses me in fruitless constancy
Who seeks responses that are never there.
Yet no Narcissus I - I do not look
To see my own reflection in the brook,
But hear the echo, and desire to hear
Her other voice. Unhappy me, she took
My exclamations as a sign of fear
And though I look for her, she is not here.
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