Lost in thought, one advances
toward the oracle. No red wings flutter in this land of winter. Swamps of
passion sleep beneath the ice.
Volition is denial of the natural
watercourse of love. Ten thousand concepts sparkle in the frozen wasteland of
the mind. Which forgery should one select?
The prophet from the south realm
answers none. Forget the dollars of the senses. Division is a fabrication of an
elementary schooling. Concentrate on one.
The voice of orioles is immaterial but gold. A charm
is plummeting into an unfathomable well. The splash is always in the spring of
heart.
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