Photography

The windows and the stars illuminated, one by one, 

The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, 

And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see 
The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; 
And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, 
I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, 
And build my stately palaces by candlelight.

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