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The Turn Of Half The Century

I am the shadow of the alder,
and the wisdom of the woods.
Blessed by Bran the blessed,
hands raised to the silver moon.
I am a seagull in the blueness
diving high the sea and the sky.
I am the whiteness of the ram,
and the labyrinth in his horns.
Been once reborn fifty autumns ago,
grasping hands and one crying voice.
I was newly born two summers ago,
an unbound twig, a springing sprig.

What am I?
but the ethereal pure sound of a harp,
the enlightened peddler of inner paths.

(c) eliseo mauas pinto - 2011

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