Erupting volcanoes and dragon mouths
You spew lava and don't know where it settles
And the words stab like Rodini's spears
No torn pieces or bleeding
A knock on the door and seven words
Like a pen between two fingers shaking hands with quarries
Leaving no room for tears to flow
Your springs have dried up, O stream of the world
My wish to die quietly was lost
You were not successful with both
I am still in love and there is pain in my chest
And the abyss does not please my flesh
A trunk that grew in patience and was quenched with gall
Nothing eats away at my bones except good nature
And this winter
You planted the whiteness of Sannine in my head
It will not rain on your pale cloud, daughter of summer
The sound of thunder embellishes a saying, but it messes up the poems
I searched for healing in you, Hermes Flower
Sweet roses moisturize my saliva with their sweetness
I am no longer empty-handed
An old man appeared to have a crying child in his heart
Leave with him, a dignified person who carries the load and the sentence
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