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Poetry: As beautiful as they come

by Forest Grene

Field of Fire

An ebullient distraction
melts into my soul,
a thermalized meadow
of orange ablaze.

Field-dancing triumph
"We win!" they chorus,
uniform majesty
omniscient in nature.

A sultry surrounding
unstated existence,
heated and febrile
lost hidden secret.

As the breeze dusts the florid
sanguine petals,
a simple rejoicing
transforms for one moment.

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