First, it was blue
The water crisp and still,
To where you could see your reflection
Rippling at times breaking the peace
Running through my hands cold as ice
At times hot as a tormenting fire.
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Author:
M.E.M. (
Offline) - Published: November 7th, 2017 11:52
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 28
Offline)
Comments1
M.E.M, you have a very special gift to convey a lot with only a few lines.
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