It is gold that shimmers
In the eye of the wise,
It is tears of silence
When whispers gone by.
As a feather now ripe
With passions so light,
A dance of farewell,
But lures our sight
That melts our heart
Into crystalline glass.
(For my love, in memory of our afternoon teatime picnic)
2007/9/30
--
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Let not a drop of desire
Disturb the heart in ripples
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--
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◆ From: 140.112.211.137
※ 編輯: pcchuckwu 來自: 140.112.211.137 (09/30 01:33)
※ 編輯: pcchuckwu 來自: 140.112.211.137 (09/30 01:35)