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something matters more

tiny pearls
were wishes made
one night before the summer
was rained upon
the meadow –
let me in
whispering a story
lived I not for long
chances took
and I am here
again

silent
spools the ruby red
feathers to the limb
while just a bit
aways
the blue
becomes
resolved to something
bigger
floating to the ground
swept beneath
the sleeping winter
dawn

. . .