My mind art a bunch of papers that stray afar with every
jolt of the wind. I’ll grow old if I have to gather them, so fly afar and higher
still for I would rather delight myself with a child like stupor at the spectacle.
Oh! Wind play gentle there and I think you can do much better than this. Let
each have their solitary bliss in the pristine aerial silence before they slide
down to unknown spots!
