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My Being
February 23, 2012
I am flying swiftly
through the air, the wind
hitting hard at my face.
There is a nice cool, spine
chilling breeze that allows
the fish to come to the top
of the lake.
When I see one that catches
my eye I swoop down to get
it.
Sometimes it’s the right one.
Sometimes
its
not.
That’s how I get my poetry.
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