and in the other direction
nothing to do but close eyes
count the shingles on the roof of the sky
untangle the grass from itself
measure the sea in tablespoons
pour over the mountains until they flow, too
there are stars that wait their turn
there is no time for us to keep
nothing to do but close eyes
count the shingles on the roof of the sky
untangle the grass from itself
measure the sea in tablespoons
pour over the mountains until they flow, too
there are stars that wait their turn
there is no time for us to keep
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