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The Runner

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She’s running,running,running,
Running through the thicket.
Through the tangles of reeds she dashes,
Darting past branches
Dashing under trees
Over rocks
Around the bamboo
Alongside the river.
She laughs as the leaves tickle her arms
But sighs, wishing she could go faster.

Her sighs are now frequent and swift.
Her skin shines pale, lustrous and gleaming.
Her hair melts into her back.
Her boots harden into a smooth wood.
She stretches and stiffens,
Her limbs sticking together
But she doesn’t lose her momentum
Cutting through the branches fast as a bird.

Somewhere in a deep, dark thicket
A floating machete hacks through the tall reeds.





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