Shemené Kok

Clay orchid on the stand

This clay soul , our souls are infinity.

She lays beneath no rainy skies.
Her scent cannot give a fragrant smile.
Her blossoms are forever more.
Her stem as strong as she.
The strong wind blows and travels wide.
Yet she still stands anew.
So the clay orchid grows into ever after,
ever after grows onto her.

Souls are forever.

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