Sliced Oceans

June 1, 2017
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The scent of leaves sounds trees

Above the water; a sharp breeze,

Skipping the oasis with ease, 

Whining jagged rocks to seize.


Now the wind is absent here,

Its howls that threatened to sear

Any poor wanderer's ear, 

Gone, for stillness to appear.


The crinkling looks a pale blue sea,

Marked by cries of gulls when free.

It crashes heavy, rolling, endless to be.

Never ceasing, for you or for me. 

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