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I like to be just here
On the very top edge of the mist
Where the sky turns bright
And the sun shines
Pale and white
Like a ghost of herself
Where the shapes of the hills
Are hidden then revealed
And the grey, transformed
To the green of the field
And it seems that the world
Could be remade.
And I wonder
How beautiful that might be
And what has she learned
Along the way
That might help?
What would you do
If you could rub it all out
And start all over again?

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