The voice is a melody of a song composed in the serene silence of a hazy morn enveloped in grey mist.
The crimson rhododendron carpets the Earth with purple-red petals
that nauseates the senses with its tanginess.
The long slender bamboo rustles and sways in absolute harmony like in a dance.
The ever flowing water of the gurling brook knows no beginning and no end.
These and only these can bring forth such a song.
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