we were born on three different days,
of three different years,
in three different seasons.
fathered by three different men,
who loved three other different women,
we are a conflagration of love and misdeeds.
we yearned for love all during our years,
to be loved,
to love back,
but more confusion
was stirred than contentment.
three different men
killed us.
on three different days.
of three different years,
during three different seasons.
we left no more confusion to be borne
in offspring.
our curse of sadness ended here.
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