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As the nets of the night weave the moon,
And he calls himself a cricket on the grass.
I watch the horizon silently,
The hand of the evening is slightly blue.
The moon will intertwine the golden threads of being.
In my mind
What are they walking with you?
Untangle your hair,
Gently caresses you,
Watch and kiss,
Let me write a song in blue,
So let me forget it,
Or maybe a white song,
Oh, my dearest darling.