It’s the girl of all the winds who falls in to pieces, from a roof top to another in her red-stockings.

 

It’s the girl of all the winds
who falls in to pieces, 
from a roof top to another
in her red-stockings.
marsh land of her tears 
are the passage of spring
upon the heavyness of her eye lids
It’s the girl of all the winds,
at this moment in time
herself,hers only saint guardian.
selfish of her own pain
at the mistaken place,
perhaps  

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