wonder what goes
through this sky of yours
little birds sing aloud
but what do they sing ?
what echoes through the trees ?
do the roses of my garden reach
the calm and soft wind
of your winter ?
the blosson of mountains
separete two of the same
once a clean and godly fountain
now old and forgoten
the fairy is a legend
of truth lied for good
as death is not only the end
but the beginin of a continuous
flap of silver wings
pushing you through the emptiness
that is eternity
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