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■ The oak
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When the snow becomes melancholy
You can hear the time’s steps creaking Climb unto soul lay nearby if life hurts Rest as near a mirror nearby the words When the snow becomes a symphony Thoughts are guide into a halo Swinging out of brain with harmony The white seasons fetch them out of shadow Let your nails drawing on the frosted window From the inside set free the infancy that lingers You’ll hear then the seconds turning into vows Like bells pendent by the children fingers We, the starving wolves, at least for a winter Must learn the faith and accept the chance To bow down together with the lambs For share the love with the forsaken shepherd
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