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Until winter comes.

There's bodies beneath my feet.
They slowly lose there voices,
along with themselves.
But they are never truly gone.
For they live again in the trees,
in the grass,
in the flowers
until winter comes,
and then they die again.



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Brin11 said...
Sept. 24, 2011 at 7:06 pm
reflective. that's the word this poem reminds me of. that and, of course, death.  I think you should add on to it. maybe go into a specific example of someone dying and the life of spring helping you/someone overcoming it. and then winter ocmes again.
 
Brin11 replied...
Sept. 24, 2011 at 7:15 pm
check out this poem "the Story" by Yuka11 I think you'll like it.
 
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