October 26, 2011
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The trees are dancing
They are doing the tango—
Their green skirts fly.
They started off slow,
But the tempo picked up.
The sky got jealous and started to cry
I want to dance with the trees.
I spin along side them—
Tear drops kiss my head.
They dance to music
That I cannot hear
But, I do hear the trees talk—
Rustling chatter.
They sweat, too.
But their pace never stops
Their swift waltz.
My mom doesn’t want me
to dance with the trees.
“It’s not safe,” She says.
The trees might trip
On their quick step,
And fall.
I dry off, and watch the trees dance
Through the window.

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