The flight

– I caught this wind onwards to fly to the nether thither where my fancy is constantly debating the veracity of it all.

– The bowl is empty always. Break the bowl, and empty the beggar’s emptiness.

– Mind not the eagle’s proud soaring. It is but an aberration that beguiles the eye. It will soon have to contend with dust in all its ramifications, and then you can ask “how goes it now with the soaring, huh?”

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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