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Emma Jun 2020
When the thinking ends
You can feel the wind brush against your feet
You can see the rain dripping from the apple tree
Its branches shaking outside the window
Emma Oct 2016
glowing moon
shining bright
behind the oaks

beaming white
within the leaves
the swaying

and rustling
the winter night
the thick clouds

grey like a fog on the stars
my red cheeks
black shoes on my feet

earth's ear
pressed
to my heart

exhaling
my lungs
my ears

listen
the air flows through
each hole in my soul

the verdant leaves
bask and glisten
in the light

i hear
a whispered tune
connect my mind

to my heart,
a reason
to my soul
I keep changing this poem. AHHHHH

— The End —