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The Vagrant Wind Warm wind blows the citron colored leaves Away from the narrow branch of life To the proven ground of certainty, A lower level. Riding gently upon the breeze, Lightly touching down on dark earth They lie in disbelief at their ousting, The luck of gravity A gust kicks up and swirls and gathers Into an eddy the lonely wedges of the whole Swirling, a caravan of hope Traveling together, in a mechanized motion. Coming to rest in a pile of familiarity Dry and brittle thirsting for more They lie spent, this band of thieves Stealing my last breath. |
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