Old willow tree in the village,
an endless story,
a bare withe,
can no longer hide,
stories within a story,
the fallen poems,
scattered on the ground,
are put into the basket of memory,
by the hands of wind.
Old willow tree in the village,
an endless story,
a bare withe,
can no longer hide,
stories within a story,
the fallen poems,
scattered on the ground,
are put into the basket of memory,
by the hands of wind.
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