Romp of the Titans

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Cloud touches Earth in a playful hug,
Misting mother’s green mane.
Clean and refreshed, she spits it back
From her stony brown lips
For Cloud to drink once more.
The promiscuous Cloud dances round Mountain Top
In a tempting movement bringing Mountain
To a heavy salivation.
Little ants that are people come every now and again
To float unnoticed across the scene
In their queer little activities.
But while they live short,
The Titans live long and will erode into forever.





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