《The Phoenix. Poems》My home

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I can feel the winds rush,

in the hair of trees,

the rustle of their leaves,

and the sun is hot.

I'm flying there by,

up above them,

and I think to

sit there and hide.

In this green,

I'll hide myself

and only look out sometimes,

from behind the veils

of the life,

to find out,

that I chose well

my own house.

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