The grass and the blooms of the Evergreen
It is this I always wish to hear:
The chirps in sunny solitude,
The absence of an interlude
The volumes that differ from far to near.
It is this I hope I always smell:
Nothing, nothing, void absences
To negate
All senses
And live comfortably without perception
To feel summer turn into fall
And yet not know it
Such, at all.
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