The squirrel’s hell is, for the hound, heaven.
And the rain, thunder, which flatten leaven,
Quench also the thirst of blossom’d flowers.
Tears spring forth joyful, in equal power
With grief and lost hope.
Mourning by morning, laughing and crying
Roller coaster emotions’ living, dying.
The hurt exquisite, the joy so fleeting,
My soul stretched to infinities meeting.
I scream, then...
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