These harvest-dawn runs linger now in
their end.
My legs don't want this over just yet, lust yet, stir up
dust yet.
Run, the body sings; run on, the mind quietens, then quivers; futther on, mind-body merge ... you blossom.
Run, the body sings; run on, the mind quietens, then quivers; futther on, mind-body merge ... you blossom.
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