The rain is a promise, a foretold wish. The tolling of the thunders resound in my hears, and my eyes are filled with clouds. I wander in the grassland, red shadows and red shamrocks,
Asking myself
Questioning
I never answer back.
The first drop catches my thoughts to the edge, today might be a revelation, tomorrow just a memory.
What I deserved to wish, so far? I have to try lying in a flowerbed, I need ants and bees and grubs and me and you and nothing else.
I want to get lost in this forest of weed.
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