Turning To A Desert
M
Mark Heathcote
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Her tears have woken!
Perched; blackbirds, quenched two, suns.
Her tears have dried and are now dead.
Her tears have flown and washed away-
The underbelly,
Soft silts of clays that lay in her riverbed.
Her tears have left the earth sodden
Her cries have shaken all of heaven.
All's-now dehydrated, turning to a desert
Yet, her barren spell. Has, only just begun.
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