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_
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 4:53 PM UTC
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_