Nothing ordinary
happens in the past
Put ears to the ground
clods exchange notes.
And memories
the young mountains
pierce the skies.
Trees remain witness and dispatch
progress reports every season.
And the bees carry tears
glinting on their back
Dark and golden
To bloom a thousand flowers.
happens in the past
Put ears to the ground
clods exchange notes.
And memories
the young mountains
pierce the skies.
Trees remain witness and dispatch
progress reports every season.
And the bees carry tears
glinting on their back
Dark and golden
To bloom a thousand flowers.
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