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Inner Peace

Tranquility on the lake results in a perfect reflection

Gentle breezes rustle the leaves of trees above

Some too old and weak fall gently

Small ripples but the images still remain

The same

Diving bells make their way across the turbulence

Riding tides of small green curled boats and then

Disappear into the depths

If you were to look in, you could see the bottom

Of yourself

Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

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