August, and cutting the harvest.
Today the sky swaying
thundercloud above.
The World's impatience,
A new impetus, malice, and
hot lips.
I feel the wings of time
poor air flow,
I see a sign of life looms
black heavy-duty reed.
I notice how the mirror image
little by little will change,
Time to draw furrows
in the face of man.
Yet, at times part
to be human.
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