spr ng

The night is qu et and the stars are shinning.

D ep in my th ughts and questions I stroll down the second line,
Picking at the _ruits of the ink bushes.
Coming to the sixth, i reach into the thicket and pull out a pe fect 'f'.

And how lucky i am to find also an 'r'.

g

v

Scattered on the wide path of eight to twelve are premat re fallings,
That of which i also take.
N t to mention the ripe produce of the thick ink bush on the right.

But this isn't enough yet
I pick up the full-stop on the above line and throw it at the title.
An 'i' drops outs of which i carefully place in my basket,
Careful that the dot does not detach itself from the body.
And in the distance i perceive a much necessitated 'y'.



.
I stumble upon the pebble i threw.



Now at the bottom of the page,
With a basket of my pickings.
I la_ out my heart...

i forgive you