In the courtyard where the cooing of pigeons
was all too easily predictable,
I heard a singing, which, freeing itself
from the whining sleet around us,
...
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We looked up. The bird held its beak.
Like us he, caged and lonely having mixed up
the seasons, did not believe in
beautiful and fantastic
great 10+++++++++++++
the irreversibility of time
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We looked up. The bird held its beak. Like us he, caged and lonely having mixed up the seasons, did not believe in beautiful and fantastic great 10+++++++++++++ the irreversibility of time