Way of wilderness

February 23, 2009
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The eye was to believe
The rocks tough exterior
Was only to hold the tender heart
Of which he would speak his freedom

A heap of wind would
Speak of dirt's important place
Upon which a dog treads lightly
As the wavering wind passes over a peaceful pine

Much like the blue of the sky
Is the summer hot
To punish the nights stars for moons surprise
The brisk morning air was as a soft breath of joy

As the throat is to say
The lips are to kiss
And the night to sleep
And yet a life is to live

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