Tim White Poet Laureate of Nowhere. The Reason of the Wind. Said the weeds to the wind, Must you be so strong? Must you blow and blow and show your power, right or wrong? Said the grasses to the wind, Must you lay us down. By pressing us, bending us and sending us to the ground? Said the trees to the wind, Thank you for the breeze! We stand so stiff, rigid, still until you blow us trees.

Des reves plein le tete .

950;αεтι Şσυvεηт Jυgέ Şσυvεηт Cяιтιφuέ Пαιs Jαмαιs ξgαℓέ . Retape dans le champ ci-dessous la suite de chiffres et de lettres qui apparaissent dans le cadre ci-contre.

Come to think of it. Come to think of it. Come to think of it. And my mind that sunk. How can i ever be? How can i ever see? In the happy kingdom. In the home of love. Why do i often sob? Come to think of it. I must be just okay. Flying high, flying free. Yet it still haunts me.