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Oct 2015
The swing set chains squeal  
as if they are themselves children,
strange rusty old
playing anxious,

Shiver, trees.
Turn your silver skyward.
The air sighs,
sighs but feels nothing.
These things are natural.
These things are alive.

The rainbows are next.

They are made of
the colors that belonged
to the flowers
before the thunder came and crushed them.
Written by
AuntieBelle  Tacoma, WA
(Tacoma, WA)   
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