Rush The swallows leave for winterbut one day, they will fly backThe willow trees shed its leavesbut one day, they will sprout new leavesThe peach blossoms witherbut one day they will bloom againSo tell me Why do our days go by and never come back?Perhaps our days have been stolen.They've hidden it, somewhere I cannot find.How many days have they left with me?Already, my hands feel empty and hollow.I silently count the eight thousand daysThat have slipped away from between my fingers.Like a drop of water from a needle-tip dropping into the vast ocean,My days fall into the flow of time, making no sound, leavi
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