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a poem for a picture
The path between between the death flowers was slim
He had to be careful not to touch them.
He could see a fresh corpse in front of him
In its hand; a blue flower on its stem

Up ahead there loomed a tall, dark mount
Its top was completely in the cloud
He knew that its peak he must surmount
And he would do so, his head up: proud

© Copyright 2015 Alex Blackink (moppestein99 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2060293