Your soul is a mossy, foresty, may green
Your eyes balance arresting ties to the
dewey seas.
You’re a hero
to the herons,
cleaning waters and shaping lands,
in entirety,
all by hand
Your soul is may green
like the wick of a branch
that promises spring
You’re hope,
embodied and anxious to start
You share your art
and delight the soggy sighing skies
with all that their tears
left behind
You’re a master
with a humble disguise
You mark your place,
leaving no mess,
just what you created




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