Burgundy and Magenta roots of the twisted oak
Wandering, roaming through tumbling hills of endless grass
Sailing out to the deep, blue ocean of mountains
To the stone castle.
A girl drifts past the wild, flowered, dirt paths
She goes, blending into the gold, magenta
Burgundy roots are her roots
Her roots are my roots
In the forest
Where we stand.
By Louisa
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