The Curved Path

The swallow resting upon
As an upright swan
Falling towards the oak
Listening to something it spoke

And there it goes
Watching just how he flows
Into the forestlands
and beneath the scrublands

With no close for ages
As the eternal turn of pages
Swivels and swivels
Until the day it shrivels

COPYRIGHT ©2021, FEELMYLYRIC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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