GOLDEN BELLS
The conservatory pattern of the
willing life is by now gone far
amiss. Buds bloom on glimmer
trees, but droop on the azaelea's
kiss. Everything now runs by
different patterns as the world
falls into its own new darkness.
-
The golden bell of devotion,
I'd suppose, is still present on
the mountains and hills. A small
village in a hollow is like a new
Eden on the run!
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