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![[ Slettet bruker ]](/static/grafikk/fjes.gif){kind=small}
Follow wherever
The tree branches make arches
In the torrid sun.
An empty sickbed:
An indented white pillow
In weak winter sun.
Ascending swallows
Winging to cottony nests
In warm red clouds.
The sprinting spring rain
Knocks upon a wooden door
That has just been shut.
A falling petal
Strikes one floating on a pond,
And they both sink.
Sist sett
