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Jul 2016
Grey clouds gather plump and perfect above my crown
   A moment of silence held sacred by the birds
   A moment to settle before I am washed away

Rainfall rolls soft and supple from our mother sky
   With gentle thanks do the leaves cup the sweet nectar
   With ancient thirst the soil drinks her in

Dirt darkens wet and washed within our mother earth
   Eyes open and breath rolls slow and low like thunder
   Eyes close and senses gather up her scent

Full flowers sway sweetly beneath a rockabye breeze
   Petals dance gracefully to the beat of each drip drop drop
   Petals lace their fingers together and bow in prayer
Emma Hill
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Emma Hill  417
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