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The Wind - Anaphora poem

The wind whistles in the cold dark night,
The wind sights through the boughs of old trees,
The wind whispers through the tall river reeds,
The wind ripples the field of high grasses,
The wind brushes my face and plays with my hair,
The wind is something no one can see,
The wind is something no one can touch,

Yet the Wind can see and touch us all.



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  1. Date: 9/24/2014 11:00:00 AM

    Very nice Anaphora, Adeline! cheers! xxxxx D.