The arce of cry
travels from hill
to hill.
From the berry trees
a black rainbow
over the blue night.
Oh !
Like the bow of a viola
the cry has set the wind's
long strings to vibrating.
Oh !
( The people of the house
bring out their lamps.)
Oh !
Where are you going,
with a headless rhythm ?
What moon will gather up
your sorrow of...
Oh !
Earth of light,
sky of earth.
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