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Not Here
Lying in a meadow, a field of sweet,
Knowing not what the next day bring.
Hearing the music of wind, the whispered beat,
Wondering about life's never-ending ring.
My sense of time, has seemed to be lost,
Any linger of worry, aside I tossed.
I inhaled my emotion,
And inside zen,
I looked to the ocean,
And it occurred to me then:
My sense of time, has seemed to be lost,
Any linger of worry, aside I tossed.
The red sphere's heat grazed the long grass,
I sat there absorbing it all.
The clear blue sky, colored glass,
Arising from ashes the phoenix called.
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