How we cry in a cherubic language spoken by angels behind God’s back,
In the hidden corners of Heaven.
Weep, my love, for the memory of your arboreal body,
Which, still clinging to trampled roots, played music with the wind
Photo by Matthew Henry from Burst
Jose Oseguera 
Now there’s an image with its own soundtrack. Nice work, man.
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Thank you, Allan. I’m glad you found a gem in this piece. Thanks for the awesome compliment.
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