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Jun 2017
A tree sways at the affection of the wind.

Kissed by the ever-changing breeze, it submits itself entirely; bending to the winds every whim hopelessly hoping that that gust will blow its way once more, once more, once more.

Alas, the tree stands still. The wind keeps moving.
I am the tree. you are the breeze.

Please, blow my way.
The Merchant in Samarra
Written by
The Merchant in Samarra  NJ
(NJ)   
362
   Lior Gavra and ---
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