Hyacinth garden

liberated by the wind,

I hear unperceived words of charlatans

and the shrewd are just alike

dappled with courage and bronzed discernment

profuse with naive and dulcet song.

My comrade to that which is essential,

unless distracted the wind is waiting on your favor

the curl of the wind is the consequence a slit

whose lone task can replicate

beloved ecstasy without suspires mandating an interdiction.

caring verses always happy, I feel myself caught up in the wind.

those who have voice in their chest hear the soprano girls' gift.

to the wind, I also listen never removed from the birth of my content.

these pleasurable fable spun in the eastern sky,

the city glows auburn a demure match in the glowing in my wind.

wind that pulls at the silver leaves

and blooms though no one sees the wind in the light of half moon

and midnight fills my garden with the outline of the mysterious.

the birth of wind begins in the trees, an evening breeze

at dusk that settles,

blowing, through spindly bare branches



propelled to embrace

the liberated wind.

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