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The misty sky
Has dropped its heavy gloaming
Down in the howling northern forest,
Which buried the voices of the eras.

There I rambled,
Amorous of my searches,
Lurking beneath the mellow moon,
Amidst the pure shadows of my grief and joy.

I dropped my sounds -
My sounds trembled and cried,
Sinking in the abyss of the wailing silence,
They rushed from tree to tree, from soul to soul.