May 24, 2009
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I am a Flowing River High up in the Mountains, as clear as a person's tears.
A cool breeze flows around and follows me everywhere I go.
Blazing yellow, orange, and white daffodils lie in my path.
They sway with the breeze.

A wild fire that was once off in the distance is now at my fingertips.
But it does not burn. It seems to fly across the earth.
Down close as if it were looking for something.
Then in a flash of brilliant orange, it’s gone.

I am the acoustic guitar, as I strum, People come.
But not from a town or cars, they rise from the soil and the air.
Everywhere I go, people are coming.

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