Perdido na floresta, eu parti um galho escuro e levantei seu sussurro a meus bordos thirsty: talvez era a voz da chuva que grita, um sino rachado, ou um coração rasgado.
Algo distante fora dele pareceu profundo e o segredo a mim, escondido pela terra, um shout muffled por outonos enormes, pelo húmido metade-abre a escuridão das folhas.
Wakening da floresta sonhando lá, o avelã-hazel-sprig cantou sob minha lingüeta, sua fragrância drifting escalada acima com minha mente conscious
como se de repente as raizes que eu tinha deixado atrás do gritado para fora a mim, a terra eu tinha perdido com minha infância --- e eu parei, feri-me pelo scent vagueando
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