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| Photograph by Rebecca |
This morn I sit on my dirt throne on high.
Oh, how the weeds have grown. A budding flower to my left awaits its bloom, a seasoned beetle-eaten leaf is to my right
and below me is my mosaic of meditations journal.
Oh, small and gentle flower how you are woven into my tapestry.
Oh feather, oh feather from up high, your soft angelic presence rekindles my spirit.
Absolute joy, rejuvenation and peace take harbor here.
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