'Tis the morrow full of storm
in the heart of summer.

The wandering hands of the wind shake the clouds
like white handkerchiefs waved in farewell.

Innumerable heart of the wind
fluttering over our silence of love.

Humming through the trees, heavenly music,
like a tongue full of songs and wars.

—"'Tis the morrow full of storm," Pablo Neruda

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