The Moor
Some say about the moor
that it is dangerous
ice cold swamps
steaming in pale sunrays of the morning
lurking hideously
swallowing everything
conserving corpses and mummies
I say that the moor is beatiful
colorful spiders
drinking the morning dew
strange flowers everywhere
water spending life
the real moor starts
where man’s land ends
but our spirits are caught
in the webs of colorful spiders
and the mist of the morning
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