Song of the Sail
The wings of the gull flapping in the dark sea sky, if I turn my shoulder, may touch my shoulder.
The voice of the gull calling in the dark sea sky, if I stretch my hand, may be grasped in my palm.
It seems within my grasp, but I can't see it, probably because the lamp hung from my neck is flickering.
I will blow the lamp out.
And wait for the gull to come and perch on the cinder of the blown-out lamp.
The voice of the gull calling in the dark sea sky, if I stretch my hand, may be grasped in my palm.
It seems within my grasp, but I can't see it, probably because the lamp hung from my neck is flickering.
I will blow the lamp out.
And wait for the gull to come and perch on the cinder of the blown-out lamp.
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