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stillness
I dream of whispers,
But cold blows the north wind
I remember warmth
No longer soft skin against my hand
I hear thoughts
Lost against the dripping years
And still the flowers wilt
bending the stalks, bowing to the weight
pale yellow...
But cold blows the north wind
I remember warmth
No longer soft skin against my hand
I hear thoughts
Lost against the dripping years
And still the flowers wilt
bending the stalks, bowing to the weight
pale yellow...
