Mystery of bones

For she’s a flickering flame,don’t touch ; let her burn,
Don’t try to be her master, for what you know she already learned.
She’s a fire holding a heart so dead; so very cold,
For it would take a little longer for wounds to heal that are too old.

Neither a burning sun or a shining moon,
She’s is just the bright sky of noon.
Fighting soul with bag of bones,
How would the world be like if you had own clones.

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