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 Flying The breeze whips my hair every which way. My wings strain to hold me up though the storm. My limbs are useless in the hurricane. The twister spins me out of control. I fall into the currents. Not of the air but of the sea. I spring out of the currents. The twister stopped. The hurricane ceased. The storm calms into a soft gentle breeze. As the strong wind ends. Article posted November 29, 2010 at 05:39 PM • comment • Reads 1009 • Return to Blog List Add a CommentPosted Comments |
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