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Jan 2016
We dance with the birds and the wind.

The roar of our engine gives us such a big grin.

But someone has two left feet.

This soon spelled tragic defeat.

We fell like comets from heaven.

This dance of death left only eleven.

buried on that beach,
is something I shall never cease to preach.
(this poem is about hitting a bird while flying)
David T Carratola
Written by
David T Carratola
438
   ClawedBeauty101 and Ja
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