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Drop dance wild
on crop thrashing and guile
swaying in a medley of jokes
winds chiming like musicians many
happy faces do not see red
sunshine play tricks many into warmth
blue sky clouds like a canopy bright
breaths hasten to souls which
clears and tries to come out
fast is your take
up and down we go
roses smile forever bright
on fences that are dark and brown
a squirrel beams and joys
in bushes so dense
trees
full
and green
morning was fine
dew drops
were about to die/dry
I fingered one
on my tip
felt wet
and refreshed
life still lives
inside of me
yeah
how I felt!
gather
these drops
so that
a steam may form
gather these streams
into mighty rivers
whenever
you wash your face
remember
these dewdrops
who helped
form
humidity
in dugouts
called rivers!
All that from a simple drop of dew. Amazing.
I like the line of “happy faces do not see red.” Happiness keeps anger away.
what a great poem, you evoke imagery of water both small and huge. Love it!