, the nightingale in it is shrill and twisted, and the voice rises ,
a fresh rose falls
in the black well, echoes
the unheard of legends, smiles and grows old . Why is the tacit understanding of the sunshine that penetrates the heart? Carved on both sides of a wall, the bones with the same name are still alive and the bones have grown into deep plants and trees! Except for the waiting back, why should he sing those hissing winds on the crumbling wall? They slipped past the still life laid out overnight for a thousand years Maybe longevity is not greed Between laughing and not laughing Swing a boat Swing through some runoffs beyond the water Some black abyss and your sleeves One long night and reincarnate again Staying in front of us, the red petals fell from the window and rendered the only song . Waiting for the dawn to pierce the heart, a brief awakening . Maybe waiting for death is for life.
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