Truth
Wings of flaming maple leaves,
bright yellow, orange and red.
They rustle and whisper as they move.
Telling me secrets that the ancients knew.
Things we no longer hear,
over blaring televisions and endless progress.
Like why the hills roll,
and what songs the stars sing,
and what the animals really feel.
And the pitiful weeping of a concrete drenched land.
bright yellow, orange and red.
They rustle and whisper as they move.
Telling me secrets that the ancients knew.
Things we no longer hear,
over blaring televisions and endless progress.
Like why the hills roll,
and what songs the stars sing,
and what the animals really feel.
And the pitiful weeping of a concrete drenched land.
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