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■ The oak
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Good Morning
to the sun that never rises, the moon that never fails to hide, to the colors of my imagination, to my dreams and their sweetest sensations. I follow your muted calling to the end of the circle of life. Trying to catch the shadows that your absence throws, and package the memory with no date of expiry. Not anchoring your soul in flight I swallow any promise forever too light. The wave of good-bye, ... you see? Only the distance reveals its true beckoning: "Come back to me!?"
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