8/5/2021
the winds of May knocking on my window in the dead of night
bringing fascinating tidings from worlds and oceans unheard of
curious messengers spreading the tales of their lengthy travels
whispering, shouting, rustling the leaves
and yet only the trees understand the language of the winds
if only we could ride the wild zephyrs and fly to distant lands
I'm quite certain we would become fluent in their howling tongues
but perhaps that knowledge isn't meant for us
so we will continue to simply marvel at nature's feral dialogues.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
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