Sunrays
tear through the clouds
to paint designs
in the sky.
The reflections
on my back indicate
while history is engraved on Earth
patterns of the future
are being etched
with the unpredictable wind
as a tool.
Maybe, somebody has my back
Up there….
(44 words)
I love the end. Reflections of hope.
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🙂
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The first four lines of this poem are delightful, Reena.
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Thank you, Robbie!
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