A cold night,

the weeping willows.

The fireflies,

the lake that’s shallow.

The old tree that’s glaring up,

yearning for his mistress love.

The soft breeze that whistle’s low,

the dancing leaves footing slow.

In the fade the hooting owl,

sings the chorus gathered hounds.

My soul there sits observing these,

I close my eyes Eternal Bliss.

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