May 6
To her who gave thee birth in amber, I cry out.
To her, when the wind stirs, I cry out.
Within her fold thou want’st to be placed—
Thy tender hands of daisies could never be replaced.
Laai
To her, when the wind stirs, I cry out.
Within her fold thou want’st to be placed—
Thy tender hands of daisies could never be replaced.
Laai
Written by
Laaijanai Nongkhlaw
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