We mirror the passages of the moon,
seek guidance by dreaming . . .
of winter's Earth
of summer's Sky
of spring's Rivers roaring,
of eternal soaring creatures. . .Angels . . .Butterflies. . . .
Ah! to fly with the pollen, riding the wind.
to drift with the ice down the gully, and then . . .
to BE the Sun's angle, streaming,
refracting through the trees,
a treasure of spirit that wafts like a breeze . . . |
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