Spirits shod in slippers of centuries &
old marching time,
Souls whisper on breezes & freezes on
winter´s iced rime,
Dancing through balmy spring in petals
pretty floral frocks,
Heady spinning in leaves, gold, red, as
autumn´s cradle rocks.
Tip-toeing through meadow´s corridors &
long cloistered halls,
Creeping with cold care, as ancient ivy
over old cemetery walls,
Our souls wander & ramble through exits,
searching the doors,
Not denting, scarring nor marking, earth´s tender
kind floors.
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