As fresh as the dust born day left out to dry
falls upon pale earth to try its' hands
Reaching between the arid, magenta blossoms
into a forgotten hearth of acrylic clay.
The wind sighs gently as the game begins
a delicate dance across a barren sea
the uprising of deathly blossoms follows
a song of rejuvenation amidst the grasses.
Soft whispers bond in an otherworld tone
weaving secrets that ____ deep and true
overgrown by the aged sapling that sits
and awaits a new breath by the tip of its' roots.
The gardener cannot begin to realize
what the rain dreams of the garden.
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