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Muted Spring death rises from His trees He painted with more than purple, blues and greens He gave us more than angry reds and the proverbial mellow yellows He knows His children Needed more hues for our crayons He created a world within rich earth Where seeds planted bloom into beauty and food and become staffs or knives He knows We grow He created us so. Rivers of mud and streets of dirt He knows We'd want to color it all So As always He provided

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

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Date: 6/5/2012 12:47:00 PM
Excellent write here!! regards INK-U-SCRIPT
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Date: 6/5/2012 11:57:00 AM
wonderfully written with pure skill and craft. I like your words the unique sequence they use to bring out the meaning of your poem.
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