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Camilla Green
Poems
Mar 2021
Thesis
To wilting dandelions,
I ask the same old question every time,
"Tell me, when I grow old,
will my decayed hands work or shake too much?"
I hope I can climb trees,
and watch my scratched guitar weave through the pines:
High in the canopy,
gazing through branches at the one I love.
We play blue melodies
and feel blessed by the sun.
Written by
Camilla Green
everywhere and nowhere
(everywhere and nowhere)
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