Certainly on the vast windy plain, there was plenty of nothing to be looked at.
The breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind.
Sometime I wonder why I walk alone on this cold, windy road. Maybe I have no one to love or no one love me at all?
The lamp hummed:'Regard the moon,La lune ne garde aucune rancune,She winks a feeble eye,She smiles into corners.She smoothes the hair of the grass.The moon has lost her memory.A washed-out smallpox cr...
Oh, mightiest wind,wilt thou cease thy breathing inand hold thy exhales?
The wind is made of haunting souls that moan and groan in whistles and whispers. This ghostly choir chills the breeze and orchestrates a rise of goose bumps on my skin.
