That when the time
has come at which
the blood could not
nourish our land
of love any longer,
let the water trickle,
and some time in our
present time, young buds
are to replace our wilting,
our plucked up loves.
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The Breathing Poems
PoetryWhen I cannot speak, I cannot be mad, when I cannot share the happiness, all I have to do is to write the breathing poems.
