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Genevieve
Poems
Mar 2019
six thirty a.m.
write about the deep planes
of the woods on your back.
how peaceful the morning is,
the dawn begins to crack.
smooth chill ****** on my skin
to remind that i'm alive.
i wonder if the trees can feel it too;
that i'm alive.
are they crickets?
perhaps frogs?
calling me
between
the wet whisps of the wind
and morning fog?
Written by
Genevieve
19/F/USA
(19/F/USA)
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