Early in the morning
rub my eyes.
I know how to
fatigue little by little
somewhere away vanishes.
You are mown underworld of grain,
it reminds me of january
while a piece of land gets.
In January, for years of
I will get you lost.
I guess you flew an angel
skyline somewhere.
Over the side of illusion,
illusion, it is rattling trap,
dark trap, or
beautiful memories
the rose garden.
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