(Milan HlavsaJirina Zemanova)

A strand of hair shielding my eyes

No one can see

With a trembling hand I remove the haze

To awake my troubled eyes

I am the wind

I sweep but don't clean

I carry the dirt farther away

I am the sun

I am of no use to blossoming buds or ripening fruits

At times I peek from behind the clouds

And shine through myself

I am the rain

My drops will not touch you

For I am the flood

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