of spoken words
the ground begins to move
the clasp of feet against the cliff side
top crumbled little pebble
i stand
the world shifts within my axis
feeling very oddly
my friend smiles to me
tells me he must leave
i bid him farewell
may never see again
onward against the edge
the soft growing green
whispers sung melodies
the french blooms in my ear
what are you telling me
shoots of open green
-lahmadaj
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