Hear the trumpet of the glory of him dancing profound upon the sands! The farmer he is toiling upon the earth, his perspire is the deepest oceans, warmth of him the flames of fire, wandering winds his very breath, life of him the cosmic life, and the look of the world of majestic green, the space he owns, the majestic world. Come on, men of mighty labour, let us build upon the sands of the haven for us, yet we own naught for he is the Lord of this fistful of soil!
With the anklets' jingling bells the naughty streams play hide and seek. Upon the woods, looking at her growing young- with paces slow holding hands with her eternal love- a flow of tranquility toward a world to fetch the love of an eternal quest. O waters of deepest woods, take me with you to the distant lands where the rich shores bear the fruits of your longest passage. A voyage from the pores to the deepest ocean, carrying the bliss of unseen end!
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