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°°Of Poetry's Poverty°° I walk through different lanes, calling out to beings, unliving they say, for I wave my palm to the maple leaves to bid them a goodbye and I embrace the small hailstones, the gift of the heaven, to welcome them in my haven, just if it could be called so. | caption | °°Of Poetry's Poverty°° I walk through different lanes, calling out to beings, unliving they say, for I wave my palm to the maple leaves to bid them a goodbye and I embrace the small hailstones,

°°Of Poetry's Poverty°° I walk through different lanes, calling out to beings, unliving they say, for I wave my palm to the maple leaves to bid them a goodbye and I embrace the small hailstones, the gift of the heaven, to welcome them in my haven, just if it could be called so. | caption | °°Of Poetry's Poverty°° I walk through different lanes, calling out to beings, unliving they say, for I wave my palm to the maple leaves to bid them a goodbye and I embrace the small hailstones,