The pine trees rustle as you hurried across the sky
With crackling from the movement of dry leaves
Like dry sandpaper rubbing against wood
You are howling as if you were a wolf
Swirling around as if you were a Van Gogh painting
Once I let go of my kite
You take her away from me
As she hurls around the sky
Participation starts to fall
As it beats on the ground
There is no more sunshine to share
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your vision, your voice