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 Nov 2017 Ann Heart
tye wilt
consider the sunflower
with her black eye
watching the bees buzz and dance

with a sort of eclectic wonder  
in the way she lazily sways with the breeze
as though she was floating

and, always, with an eagerness to listen
to the song-like preaching of the sun
wrapped up in the curled grass

or the way she hangs her head
at the early signs of dusk
when the sunlight goes swimming off into the horizon

while the moonlight stretches its black robes over the field
as she settles into a melancholy
waiting for the dawn to return.

— The End —