other tongue
I cannot take a word from its string,
It screeches so the speech doesn't sing,
I fail in its mist for the tryst unsung,
Poem is my other tongue.
I am in my time so I paint what is around,
Not a dead branch but a living tree,
I fly on the weather that guides on the ground,
Warmth shivers in feathers in a certain degree.
It screeches so the speech doesn't sing,
I fail in its mist for the tryst unsung,
Poem is my other tongue.
I am in my time so I paint what is around,
Not a dead branch but a living tree,
I fly on the weather that guides on the ground,
Warmth shivers in feathers in a certain degree.
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