Title: Valgfritt

Text: As slowly as the ripening fruit - fertile, detached, and always spent, falls but does not exhaust the root - so all the poem is, can give, grows in me to become the song, made so and rooted by love. Now there is time and Time is young. O, in this single hour I live all of myself and do not move. I, the pursued, who madly ran, stand still, stand still, and stop the sun! Hver avsnitt vil være en test.

Save test: Bruk dette hvis du vil dele denne skrivetesten (kun for godkjente brukere).