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Spring Mornings
Mia, Age 14, Merritt Island, FL

                      Blue grass dew slipped down my feet
leaving a shining trail of prints
as I broke the glimmering sheet.

"My dears, the morning's bright,"
A swaying Baby's Breath
whispers of the morning's light.

Cockscomb tilts her ear
towards calls from the awakening farms
on the first spring morning of the year.

Larkspur twinkling out a song
so soft yet trill that slips into
the dreams of the flower throng.

Weaving, Queen Anne's Lace,
silent at her duty. Occasionally
lifting her white, sunny face.

Leaning against the other, shy,
watching the others arise: Solidaster.
Content to sway and watch the sky.

Looking down the fields, I walk,
listening mutely with a smile
to the flowers' morning talk.
 

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