The window pane is closed,
Even though it’s sublime it’s not clearly confined.
The dots of imperfection can be seen here and there
And so it takes no time for a passerby to judge what’s inside,
They say what’s inside might be ‘just fine’,
And at some imperative places the sun might shine.
They say there’s nothing special about it,
It’s just another window
But nobody realizes that what’s inside is the most precious thing alive!
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