Where The Trees Become Sky
P Patti Masterman
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Fly high, bird, where the trees
become sky,
Where blue rain turns to mist,
and every kiss
Ascends toward heavens
blinding bliss.
Fly low, crow, where the bent trees
fight wind,
Where the black ice is staying,
in the nights dark playing,
And nobody knows what the
wind is saying.
Bu şiiri puanla
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