When living over the sea,
Perhaps only hear and gloat;
Longing for desired fulfilment,
His heart never begins to shaken;

The only buds begin to cry,
His own strife begins so rife!
A longing for home contrives,
But only never can cease describe.

Only then would mornings be afternoons;
Only then would midday be midnight;
And the snow that touches the rain,
So clearly be the days gone by.

Category:
Mysterious, Nature, Poetry, Works
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