Illusion
On a cold windy night I lean against the woodpile looking up at low still clouds; Above them moon and stars race headlong
across the sky.
On our little spot of earth I and my woodpile race with them Leaving the clouds behind.
On a cold windy night I lean against the woodpile looking up at low still clouds; Above them moon and stars race headlong
across the sky.
On our little spot of earth I and my woodpile race with them Leaving the clouds behind.
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