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Whispering

Upon the open hill she stands,

Alone with the descending sky;

A quiet breath, and gentle hands

In placid stillness, hold her high

Above the strange weight of it all,

Suspended just before a fall,

The nearest depth fills in the holes,

Through open skin, unfolding soul.

In all the vast wild space she knows

That no one else in listening

She feels the great grey roll and flow

As soft as their soft whispering.

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