(Milan HlavsaJirina Zemanova)
A strand of hair shielding my eyes
No one can see
With a trembling hand I remove the haze
To awake my troubled eyes
I am the wind
I sweep but don't clean
I carry the dirt farther away
I am the sun
I am of no use to blossoming buds or ripening fruits
At times I peek from behind the clouds
And shine through myself
I am the rain
My drops will not touch you
For I am the flood
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