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Monday, April 02, 2007

Colors
fly,
governing,
flakes fall,
appearing similar,
yet so very
different.

Slowly,
they wage
a battle, starting
with a small insertion,
dropping, gathering on the
ground, before the chaos of
the major offensive.

Warriors
drop through
the clouds, in numbers
too high to count, falling
to their end, their demise,
landing, to be shoveled into
a pile, forgotten, forever.

By



http://www.poemhunter.com/dan-hanosh/

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