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STRAY BIRDS 262 trembling leaves of this tree touch my heart like the fingers of an infant child.

263 sadness of my soul is her bride's veil.

It waits to be lifted in the night.

264 little flower lies in the dust.

It sought the path of the butterfly.

265 in the world of the roads.

The night comes. Open thy gate, thou world of the home. [75]