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Where do the clouds kiss the hills?
When does dusk kiss the dawn?
It’s the point of the deals
The point where they fawn
Gently, slowly, the plant buds
Morning, and it blooms
In thick, in thin, it weathers the muds
In seasons, nature grooms
The whirlwind blows hard
Dusts rise high
The air scents bad
The plant withers and die
Thunder strikes twice
Piercing the lands, shifting the hills
And the clouds let out their cries
And the gap left, no one fills
