Having it chased,wearily, ill
his beautiful heart in green grass
is relaxing.
The wreathing darkness of passing
plucks a dream as a storm as lightning
he ravages on the hope.
Driven one,wearily, ill
in fragrant hay his little body
he takes a rest.
Lagged behind wounded wild companions
in soft grass his little body collapsed
his dim eye last
Took the day for his child
and with the dawn dew flying
he took a rest forever on the single beam of his soul.
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