We leave the city behind,
misfortunes, miss for tunes, etcetera;
where we no longer sow
any songs.
Our flute became trapped
inside a willow's root —
punishing the ground,
upheaving streets and sidewalk slabs.
We set afar, among friends —
where cows sip,
where sap flows.
Our verses must
soar for judgement,
but in wild, wilder lands…
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