From my tired eyes
I sent a glance
Up to the green canopy
Of an oak tree
So that I might lose my weary self
In the soothing arms of the leaves,
In one of the many chambers
Of light and shade.
I saw that I was
That happy little bird,
Singing somewhere
Inside the green canopy;
But the happy little bird
Did not show itself
At one of the many windows
Of the green canopy:
It did not care who I was,
And continued singing,
Without self.
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