Unaware whether hatched or eaten.
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The summer rain is here.
for the peacock in love.
Your memories make a desert
Upon the sands of time.
War is a border
To live and let live.
A handful of dreams and desires
In the lyrics of the bees.
War is a killing path
The shorter you exist.
My dear little bird
That once a while I hadBeen your sleeping pad.It has beenOnce a while,You had not been here,Not your wings flutterNor you ever hover.You retreat off my shadeAs much true as a lie-Naked as a truthYou have away fled.That much was yoursturning out againin the morning sunto ease your tired wings.