Coming
back through the tunnel
From
the other side returning
The
dove leaves her rest and enters
The
world . . .
From
lightly reposing in a letter tree
In
all its words there pervading
The
dove flies against the wind
And
the letters fall . . .
From
the fragrance in the life of them
The
letters rise in a stream
The
rose grows against the wind
Weaving
love’s eternity . . .
*
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