"Men will trade leaves of paper for bread. But then the paper will become worthless, and people will cry in the streets because their treasures are ash."
The wind over Tara does not speak in words; it speaks in the rustle of dry leaves and the unsettling silence of the Drina.
"Men will trade leaves of paper for bread. But then the paper will become worthless, and people will cry in the streets because their treasures are ash."
The wind over Tara does not speak in words; it speaks in the rustle of dry leaves and the unsettling silence of the Drina.