Nature Poem

January 24, 2012
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A cloudy mist blinds me
while the ear piercing sound of
waves crashing deafen me.
It’s not raining, yet I’m soaked.
Holding on for dear life,
to this tiny rope.
Thunderous sounds overpower
my cry, I’m going to die.

Finally it’s over.
Mother touches my shoulder,
Are you okay?
Imagine the look on my face.
Old, young, short or tall,
I refuse to go back to
The Niagara Falls.

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