Andre Mo
@andremo
The leaves in the field have turned yellow, And they circle and fly; Only in the forest they ate withered They keep gloomy greenery. Under the overhanging rock He doesn’t love me anymore, between the flowers, The plowman sometimes rests From midday labors. Beast, brave, unwillingly He is in a hurry to hide somewhere. At night the moon is dim, and the field Through the fog it only shines silver.
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