White beads spoken..,
often being forgotten.,
The only immortal,
is my black bead..
Through the.,
dusty brook to hilly swamp.,
drops when speak.,
or thunder when clamp..
Talks of rain..,
or the.,
water or stone.,
storm or cyclone.,
will never succeed..
The only immortal,
is my bead..
When breeze blows..,
or daffodils discourse.,
some sound comes.,
silent speaks of course..
In a tumult ocean.,
or a silent sea.,
when earth echos.,
or sky bent on its...
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