2281
7.88
30.iii.26
breeze is waking steps through spent grass
in the Botanical Gardens
a tree is only
reaching
and that’s the why of
up
we colour it will
seeing
hoof it
summer to the shade
far fling of such
a few steps in the
garden show
world’s turn for an
illusion
there’s always a bit
of sky
always a bloom of
whiff
I make a midst of it
sending words
where they won’t want
to go
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