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Marco Buschini Mar 2021
Thou art the sunlight
That trickles off the
Rippled water.
Thou art the sweetness
Of beauty.
Thou art the spirit of
The trees,
The whistling sound of
The wind,
And I catch thee
Like I would catch a fish.
With a scream of
Delightful madness.
Only to let thee go again.
Back into the sea,
Back into thy divine
Peace.
Only I wait,
For you to catch my bait,
In some other dream.

— The End —