Three A.M.

A frail birch sways in the wind,
brushing from nowhere to nowhere;
empty words are as words empty,
words are but words.

In dreams where the heart desires,
to the gardens or to the lairs?
In rusted chains a heart is tied,
to heaven and earth.

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Published in: on 15/08/2018 at 2:06 AM  Leave a Comment  

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