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Jan 2015
I swear the mountains were purple that day.
Endless land that ever goes,
From dawn way out to dusk.
The mists are shifting, ever drifting,
Hiding everything,
Except the mountain tops.
What’s in the mist?
What is so deep?

Madness...
annvelope
Written by
annvelope  Stockholm
(Stockholm)   
464
   ---, Pradip Chattopadhyay and sol
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