Dust dances in every move,
wind wishes to her,
On the earth; the dance floor,
O’ Modar
when you bloom like embers
I hear the call
The call of the spring messenger!
Dripped in blood; you are!
shedding tears forever,
crimsoned on leafless branches
what pain untold you pine for!
O’ Modar,
my words desire to perch on,
the branch where you sit and cry alone,
let me be pensive and devour your beauty
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