Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

France

And there came the day when I opened the page.
Because it had to be written,
The melody of the clay.
The seeds that flew, the brighter glow,
How the wind blew them in through the open door.
Little seeds that leave us with vacant stares, remainders
Of the snow that fell,
on that sunny day
and kissed the grass with a chilling grace.

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