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Sweet smell is hanging in the air,
talking in a different language,
which belongs to colored flowers.
Rivers tell their never ending story,
one time they raise up their voice loud,
another time they murmur very gentle.
A whispering flies through the air,
from trees that talk to heaven,
and their word's echo is falling down.
I stop and listen to these storys,
which enter my body through my senses,
to fill my heart softly with beaty.
