Rotate

Deep inside the woods I met

Stood a treehouse that still intact.

And a little gramophone in that room,

where a black records rotate.


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Suddenly it rained,

which made me all wet.

The melody of songs drifted toward my heart.

My blue was singing from it.


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Rain continues,

I don’t know how much tear down the flowers.

Rotating black records continues,

I’m still wandering around some same old places.

By Yating Wang(Sylvia)

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