footprint left on the fresh grass
You come from the south,
where the light burns the grass is dry.
You come from the east,
where he grew up in the morning if you want to smile.
You come from the west when I fall asleep.
You come from the north on the only blowing our candles.
I see you dancing with chains on their feet
because I only have memories of gestures,
how you walk and you're sitting
of your fingers curl in her hair.
a land to explore
to walk without haste
I can not help but follow a track
footprint left on the fresh grass
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