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Mourning Its Fallen Comrades

by Lana Bella

the autumn blue grass
was a swirling weight
of sky whose fleece
never got trimmed.

Boat-shaped tips
stroked against the foot
of travelers
and, for a moment,
the wind tore
at its flower heads
in swift descent.

Then its stalks stood bare,
bereft of blue.

Copyright © 2016 by Lana Bella

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