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Aug 2017
A Wind rolls through the forest—
Branches shake— on a bare tree
A Leaf rustles— restless— quivering—
Holding on a moment longer—

A Wind rolled through the forest—
Now All is still— hushed— like Dawn
The Cold relinquishes— Darkness parts—
And reveals the Leaf is gone.
We wrote Emily Dickinson style poems in class. Voila.
Emily Dickinson Wannabe
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