The Recollections

I  Old World's Yolk The echoes of time  Are heard  Like wind blowing  Through Sakura petals  Whistle whistle  Can a fragrance  Be heard? In the march  Of history  The footsteps  Run silent  Under the  Boister of  Drum and trumpet  The fragrance is lost  In the whistling  Of the wind  And yet When dawn Approaches  The... Continue Reading →

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