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s Mar 17
“How darling, how innocent, how sweet it must be
To stand stubborn and still, listening not to your loved ones’ pleas
To chase after a future no shaman could ever foresee
And to finally set free,
Letting go as old Driftwood did so it could float lost at sea—”
—wondered little Robin, its wing caught on the branch of a birch tree.

— The End —