Oko, labe igi oronbo
A path that winds into the clouds
In loving memory of broken cisterns that squirt.
The very moan of trees
Rises to ninth heaven in praise,
Of the cat that died
Dousing the rampaging fire running in your tap
A path that winds into the clouds
In loving memory of broken cisterns that squirt.
The very moan of trees
Rises to ninth heaven in praise,
Of the cat that died
Dousing the rampaging fire running in your tap
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