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My Mother, The Earth
December 22, 2007
On the hill,
No one lays claim to your life.
All there is to be done
Is to be,
Simply to be.
Grasses rustle,
Knee-high,
And wind dances,
Plays with my hair-
Like a mother,
My mother, the Earth.
And as twilight becomes
A reality,
Winds whistle
High and Low,
Lullabye
of My Mother,
The Earth.
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