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In the garden all I see is delicate,
colorful, wing like: Even morning
sun
has wings--gliding over rooftops,
flowers,
and myself, making me feel feathery,
air like, a part of each selfless
breeze
that only offers lightness
if we are willing
to leave our own weight behind....
Up I travel, high above the smoke
and rock-hard pavement of my city--
machines taking lubrication from
my steel will:
Higher and higher, I take flight,
absorbing light, dissolving my
shadow--
this seems important, how high
I travel,
making way for light....
- By Joe DiMino who retains
all rights.
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