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Breeze
January 7, 2009
Breeze
The wind screams by
Feeling like gold
I can hear the ripples in the water
The ocean is a soft blanket
The happiness of the birds
Lights the way, flying high
Spirits sore like tornados
Nothing is expected of me
All is well and aglow
The sun is descending in the night sky
Now my face feels warm
I am safe
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