Walking

The waters walked slowly, from the red mountains
Entering the parched plains, with wind on their backs.
Their forked snake tongues proceeded smoothly,
Exploring, gently patting short grasses on their heads
And feeling for living creatures, thingy existences
Under the sky and on the earth, brown with the sun.

The mountains bled with muddy water in their hearts
And renewed the lives of our rivers for one more year.

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