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Oct 2016
Rain drops are falling,
They don't make a sound,
They bury their way,
Deep into the ground.

Where sick seeds lay furled,
And no one can see,
The beginning of sprouts,
That will form the tree.

Where butterflies flutter,
In a forgotten place,
And inside the caverns,
A storm you must face.

But for now more silence,
The quiet is your friend,
To tear you apart,
Or to help you to mend.
Sarah Strack
Written by
Sarah Strack  22/F
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