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And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.
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We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
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All this
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I would like to describe a light
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No other shore, only this bank
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I / will craft my own drum. Gather my beloved
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Before the rebels took Ch’ang-an,
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It seems / our own impermanence is concealed from us.
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Evening is the stalk
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Write with your fingernails, scratch