But I see
In this winter.
I feel it,
I touch it,
I call it,
Come on dear.
Air tree,
Not exactly,
But light tree,
Under which
You are discovered.
Rumour, rumor,
The words I heard.
All are truth, though.
I come back to fire
But I see nothing there.
All my hope scattered,
And I arrived at the place,
Where I find that tree,
Not of air, not of light
But the tree with all trust.

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