sexta-feira, 23 de janeiro de 2026

Gefjon's Zealand sýn

 strength silence creation
The smell of grass and earth
No gesture or retreat
No invitation

Sun touched
Fields cut
The bunches of grain
Gefjon's hair

Worn by weather and labor
rethreaded by season and tree root
She lifts the mountains
Stagger's their heights

She breaks the island in half
forms the deep mysterious forests
No noise or distractions
Just memory


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