let the wind flows in,
blowing the curtain covering the tiny little palace.
The breeze calms the anxious soul,
mends the broken heart,
brings hope to the hopeless ones.
The painting of the future is nearly perfect,
full of colours,
like a rainbow after the rain.
The leaves are falling,
a reminder that autumn falls,
a sign that the white little cool cotton would revisit soon,
then bring back the sun from its deepest sleep.
It is a cycle.
It begins. It ends.
It comes. It goes.
It comes again. It goes again.
It is eternal,
everlasting.
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