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Long fine hair,
that lay softly across her shoulders,
and trailed down her back,
all the way to her waist.
The colors of brown and yellow and gold.
Mixed as one, autumn comes to mind.
Yet the time, it is spring.
Her gown is green, every shade,
like the forest when the sun shines...
through the trees in small open spaces,
between the clouds of a summer storm.
Never the same in any given place.
She rides a unicorn.
A horse of mythic proportions.
I stand at the rim of the cliff watching.
They ride to the water's edge,
to get a drink.
I am mesmerized,
and find I wish to be nearer,
I step closer.
The boundary gains a pace or two.
Death is happy.
She is singing,
I can hear her now.
On the breeze, of the morning,
the one that brings everything new
to the land,
and takes all things old...
The song is beyond my thoughts,
I can not hear the words,
the melody haunts my heart,
and lifts my spirit.
She is magic...
have stepped off the cliff,
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2020
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