We sit on the hill;
The yellow flowers and damp grass
And see it...
The purple mountains in the distance,
Growing white towards the top…
Dressed in armor;
An armor of clouds
Easily penetrated
By the eagles that glide through them…
Easily snatched away
By the wind
Which cannot even pluck grass from damp ground,
Or scatter flowers into petallic parts.
Yet it wears the armor,
Like a samurai wearing his bamboo
To a battle of exploding balls
And spinning guns.
Yet it wears the armor,
Like a samurai wearing his bamboo
To give himself nothing but some confidence;
A confidence that might end him victorious.
We sit on the hill;
The yellow flowers and damp grass
And see it…
The purple mountains in the distance,
Seeming to slowly walk towards us…
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