And the wind asks me, sitting in the tree: What is rain? I have no idea. I only perceive drops of fire in the blood upon the caress of your voice.
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And the wind asks me, sitting in the tree: What is rain? I have no idea. I only perceive drops of fire in the blood upon the caress of your voice.
Log in to join in Reading is open to everyone. Replying needs an account.
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