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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1425603
When I was younger, my favorite way to get back to "myself" was to sit in the woods.
To be beneath a tree,
A shadowy autumn sea-
Sitting in a cool breeze
Is the essence of my spirit.

The leaves trickle down,
Tear-dropped shaped and brown
At my step quails flee,
Only to find refuge somewhere else.

Upon the day creeps the eve,
A moonlit path bereaved
Of surface thoughts and fantasies
Leaving only deep desires.



Beignet
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