The softest, but also the strongest
To penetrate the rock.
Beauty, clear as the crystal
But hides as the myth
The privileges to resemble all that not want
Of it to land as one to them
The righteousness of its bearing, to allow itself to stay the same
The lucky of it, to not seek to blame its name
The action to which it takes
Acknowledged not
The privileges to deem no question to its life
No remorse for its soul
How I wish I was the rain.
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