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still not cold

On a windless Sunday,

the sand of time soars from the distant sky.

They make a small sound like powder snow and

touch the earth softly.

I'm walking naked with a white map in my hand

through the snowfields when I get down.


There's a light blue park with no one, Abandoned Auditorium

Upside-down steel tower,

Wind without sound

and The sand of time is dancing in the bird-free sky.


It's still not cold

Because time is stroking the soul.


- Keisy


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