A entire Day The wind scampers through my hair like fingers.

A entire Day

The wind scampers through my hair like fingers.
The chapfallen sky looks as if it has been painted
by way of a small child, for about places are blue,
and near are white, where the paintbrush
missed.
As I kick the stones and pine needle I hear
the birds chattering around me
I can scent fresh pine.
The wind

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