The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus | Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots |
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The smell of the earth is good | I know what I know |
Seol Song Ah 7 December 2015.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers | You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily |
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