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Aug 1
Morning dew,
Invades the grass.

Hollowed trees,
Dancing branches.

Dawning sunlight,
Painting the fields with gold.

A ****** of crows,
Having their morning conversation.

My corpse.
Old,
Unrecognisable.

Confined forever,
To this wooden box.
A poem from me, to you.
Tre Waters
Written by
Tre Waters  26/M/Australia
(26/M/Australia)   
80
   Nasus
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