Waking up in the morning we catch a mere fragment
From a whole, clinging to tatters, to threads come off
As we had dreamed it in the night, when their whole 
Came to be known, in the  distinct sky  of those trees
That sway from their inside to their outside of  the air.

Our dreams are rags from a cloth, their wholes  lost
In a hopeless struggle against the wind of the trees.
Our trees are  fragments of a sky, torn from its wind.
Our dreams are just trees from their inside to the sky.

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