Oxen and sheep were brought back down Long ago, and bramble gates closed. Over Mountains and rivers, far from my old garden, A windswept moon rises into clear night. Springs trickle down dark cliffs, and autumn Dew fills ridgeline grasses. My hair seems Whiter in lamplight. The flame flickers Good fortune over and over -- and for what?
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5/14/2024 7:58:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119