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It's amazing how tender a love letter one can write without ever using the word "love". It's amazing the passion that fits into a letter that doesn't even obliquely refer to sex. There are truths that want to be whispered by moonlight or over an echoing phone line, cried aloud by daylight, shouted from the gallery into a seat of government. And these are the truths I tell him, time and again, until he knows the touch of my heart as he knows the touch of my hand.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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