The stream glimmers
with the gold of the sun,
the blue of the sky,
the wing of the blackbird
flying by.
The wind through the
willows speaks to me
from the banks of the stream
that flows to the sea.
Through the willows it returns
as between the banks returns
the stream.
A thousand years,
a thousand more,
the stream will glimmer
with the gold of the sun,
the blue of the sky,
the wing of the blackbird
flying by.
Poem Source
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