there’s a comforting silence
when the orange flaming sun
casts its last glances
across the Western skies
she sits cross-legged
savoring a few more syllables
under a tree perhaps
above her a blue jay sings
savoring a few more syllables
under a tree perhaps
above her a blue jay sings
though it is becoming clear
that this story is really not
her story, but we let her be
her story, but we let her be
for just a few more lines
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