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Wind.

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Whistling past the ears when it came
Rustling the leaves above
Has the spirit of a horse that was not tamed
Lifting up the small wings of a dove
It pushes the sails on the ocean blue
Whiling and twirling, that’s how it travels
How it looks we have not a clue
But the strength of it can pick up gravel



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dina8This teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 21, 2013 at 11:46 pm
Love this poem!
 
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