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A bird sings, alone on a branches on this abandoned tree when all its fellows have left, scattered, for distant lands. The silence of their songs quivers the air knowledge of their sound tells, they are gone. The sun shines down, then brightens again on bright stars, the echo of an empty courtyard. If you have heard the wind whisper shaking green leaves and branches, you know secret whispers of friendship have fallen, silent. Now trees, flowers and stone and dancing bubbling fountain too all stand still, waiting this quiet-aired late summer afternoon. |