The West Winds gently blow,
bringing forth the Dawn of Spring
They're serene, but never slow
Do you hear how leaves sing?
The West Wind strikes in a silent grandeur
Without knowing it, you're dead and gone
Can't see it anyhow, that's for sure
She'll kill you in stoic fun
How can you defeat someone stealth?
With slashes and pierces just won't work
Immense speed is her own health
In blind eyes is where she lurks
Try not to oppose Zephyr
These could be the last you'll ever hear
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1 comment:
Rhytimatic sonnet of undying poet, living art work of a pieces in the heart of the master
(in other word- it fucking rocks, I would wanna hear how it sung)
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