A Sheep from wools.
The man making a sheep from wools,
Oh I am cold, cold.
Where is the skin?
Oh, the light is nice here,
So I sew
The thread is tearing the sky apart.
The girl, knowing not to cry
For this is it,
The manner of afternoon.
The swift taking of a bath
The marionette sodden
Its feet lifting the sky up.
Always up.
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