The wind has bloody, long claws
to scratch the sensitive skin
of the leaves. They bleed within.
The nature is wrapped in shawls
of fear. Slipping, shimmering,
strong rays break the cuticle
on the horizon. The ring
of the sun sends its miracle
in the clouds to make the lights dim.
They cannot climb up the hill
of dreams, nor can the sun's limb
darken our field, but the thrill
is gone. The dawn is looking
like the Dali's red painting.
A reclined image is the sky.
The Day's touch makes him feel shy.
The water seeps through cracked stones
washing fossilized old bones.
The wind has bloody, long claws.
The nature is wrapped in shawls.
Strong rays break the cuticle.
The sun shows his miracle.
He kisses the nature's skin,
The green slowly dies within.
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