Fever Of Heart
A bird, feverish, bursting and unleashed,
Swallowed up hills, ancient land's tales,
Green meadows from giants steps arose,
I did not think that quiet wind, my heart intoxicating,
Than the wind, on my shoulders, were wings,
And this fever, not the bird, an eager player,
Thus freedom to glee, wind ceased to be,
Albeit my heart, that bird, has wiggled.

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