On calm water,
there is an empty house,
it grows in moss
under a dormant fog.
Through a leaky roof
dust as the smoke spins,
no one cares for the house anymore,
the picture paints time.
The wind looks into the windows,
loudly knocks on the door,
memories are full of him
in spider webs he sleeps.
And in front of the house
the sound of water is heard,
passing birds listen to her singing
and they are waiting for their dreams to come true.
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