#92

I take place, with the grass,
Besides the low hills
& tall trees.
As wind passes me by,
the trees whistle sweetly,
Heavy tonnes of heat,
On my back.
As it shines heavily
From the sky,
Making paper seem brighter,
I barely can see the lines,
My mind goes to work.
Imaginations with no end,
Poems with no titles,
Formed.

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2 thoughts on “#92

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