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December 09, 2003
The Rising
A raw morning awakens,
dewy and irritable,
to the gradual holler of
the crisp yellow shell.
The fire is lit and beneath
the seat of the grass
the ground wriggles,
beckoned by beak and claw,
set off by the rising.
Green blades are shining
high above the march of
miniature armies screaming
barely
audible
cadences.
And everywhere everyone bites down
as Earth
brandishes her beauty
Posted by lisa at December 9, 2003 02:28 PM
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