In the crispness
of her voice, she was yet evergreen,
In the desert´s dry
hot dust, she was yet evergreen,
In the crunched autumn
leaves, she was yet evergreen,
In the burnt hardness
of stones, she was yet evergreen,
In the snapping of
old dry twigs, she was yet evergreen,
In the death of ancient
bones, she was always evergreen.
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