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Mar 2010
I lay out in the grass and talk to the earth.
The pine scent of your breath, in the breeze.
I hear the creatures of your forest chirp.
The salty taste of the open seas.

I feel the rain falling on my skin.
Like mine, your growth is never done.
My thoughts are blown away, with the wind.
I wither away happily, in the sun
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     Christine and D Conors
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