Dusts


How many flowers have you grown in this short life of yours?
How many petals have flown home in the windy dusts?
I heard the horizon cry for dusk
But yet you still possess the dust of the stars

How many dreams have evaporated from your scalp?
How many birthmarks have you called scars?
We live in very crazy times don’t we?
But I have no doubt that you’d be happy

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